


As the Lights Lift Around Us

by zeziliazink



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: An Ugly Hill, An enthusiastically vulgar painting, Conversations, Cover Art, Cushioning Charms, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Flying teapots, Garden Parks, Getting Together, Lots of blushing, M/M, lots of grinning, musician!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-19 15:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19976566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeziliazink/pseuds/zeziliazink
Summary: “What?” Draco said, finally looking Potter in the eye. Potter’s eyes were wide and green below his raised eyebrows. It must have been the lenses of his glasses sharpening the flecks of color in his irises, because they were almost shimmering in the light of the hundred-year old sconce on the brick wall behind Draco’s head, andoh fuck,he was still looking Potter in the eye, what the fuck, how was he supposed to get out of this, now?In which our heroes become reacquainted in a pub, spend a whole day together that turns into night, and then...? Featuring a minor freakout (Draco), a brand new song (Harry), and affectionate exasperation (all of their friends). Will Draco figure his shit out before Harry gives up? Will Harry survive the Venomous Tentacula? Will Draco ever decide which tea he wants? Will Harry's HooTube commenters ever forgive him for falling in love?





	1. A Night Out

  


## DM

“Oh my, you’re miles away, dear.”

The matronly voice of the mirror rang out in the small bathroom.

Startled, Draco blinked, shook his head, and snapped his focus back to meet his own gaze in the glass. He looked critically at the pale grey eyes ringed with tired weight, the pale hair flopping over his left eye, the pale skin that practically hollered, “I spend all my time indoors!”

As the familiar tingle of cleaning and brightening charms settled on his teeth, Draco adjusted the collar of the lilac button-up he had chosen for the evening. He hoped it would liven up his face a bit, make his coloring seem soft instead of stark or sickly.

_It’s only a small show,_ he reminded himself. _It’s a normal sort of thing to do on a Friday. You’re just meeting Sophie and Ravi at the pub, and you’ll hang out and laugh at each other’s stories, and you’ll watch Luna’s band and you’ll happen to hear Potter’s set._

He smiled wryly, then groaned, bending at the waist and letting his forehead fall to the counter.

_Who am I kidding?_

“Your hair looks very nice, sweetums,” said the mirror.

“Thank you,” Draco mumbled into the marble.

There had been quite the hubbub when the wizarding world had first learned of Potter’s new talent.

“GOLDEN BOY HAS GOLDEN FINGERS,” the _Daily Prophet_ had awkwardly proclaimed, over a grainy photo of Potter playing a guitar at a muggle open mic.

_Witch Weekly_ had published a three-spread special on the occasion, titled “The Saviour Sings!” It featured numerous photos of Potter looking mysterious and musical. In one he was facing off-page and singing something slow. His lips were, frankly, _unnecessarily_ close to the microphone as he mouthed the words. In another photo the fingers of Potter’s right hand danced skillfully across the strings of an acoustic-electric while his left hand cradled the guitar neck in a firm, careful grip.

When it became clear that Potter wasn’t in it for massive pop stardom, the coverage had died down a bit. But every now and then, a picture would pop up of him playing at a pub somewhere or while hanging out with friends. In one memorable photo, Potter was casually hovering on a broom a few feet off the ground with a ukulele in his hand, head thrown back, laughing.

The images were all corny and tacky and Draco had absolutely never thought about Potter’s soft mouth or strong hands in private moments. Nope.

_Hooo!_

The soft breath of an owl meant Draco had received a new message on his mobile. It was Sophie, checking in:

> > we’ll be at the rusty in ten or so  
>  > see you there, villain!

Draco found a smile forming in spite of himself. Only Sophie could make “Villain” a nickname. Her tiny contact avatar on the screen winked at him and waved.

Sophie and Ravi were new friends of his, both eight years younger than Draco. He had met them only this year, but he had hit it off with them right away.

Ravenclaw Sophie worked at the apothecary with him, organizing potion ingredients and matching Draco’s sarcastic sense of humour note for note.

Ravi was Sophie’s friend from Hogwarts. He was a muggleborn Hufflepuff who did what he called “tech support” for Gringott’s complicated vault security. Draco had to admit that he wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he was secretly quite impressed.

But the best thing about Sophie and Ravi was that they only ever knew him _After_. After his stint as a Death Eater Youth, after the battle and the trial and his father’s imprisonment, after being outed by the _Prophet_ at twenty-three, after the whole four-year thing with Ethan went up in flames.

They knew some of the details of his role in the war, because everybody did. Rita Skeeter’s retrospective _Harry James Potter: A Life_ , written in advance of Potter’s 30th birthday, had made sure that the upcoming generation could learn all of the salacious details. (It had also “helpfully” reminded the older generations of them again, too.)

But Sophie and Ravi had found it all hilarious.

“Draco, you were so _eeeevil_!” Sophie had squealed. She had been reading some of the best passages out loud at the Leaky the day the piece came out.

“ _‘Draco Malfoy, the silver prince of Slytherin, is best remembered for his uniquely contentious relationship with our hero and his inability to kill Albus Dumbledore successfully, despite plenty of access and opportunity.’_ The _silver prince of Slytherin_ , oh. My. God. And you look so young in this photo, you’re like a little evil baby, I love it.”

When Sophie finally lapsed into a rare moment of silence, Ravi had bumped his shoulder into Draco’s. He said, “I dunno, mate, seems like you were mostly shit at the whole evil thing, in the end,” and then changed the subject to the new keeper for the Appleby Arrows, who was possibly (and very controversially) part giant.

Draco typed out his reply:

> > I’ll see you soon. If you get there first don’t pick that booth by the sheep painting. You know that shepherd has a weird thing for me.

He grabbed his wand, tucked his mobile in his pocket, and headed out the door of his flat. There was a breeze in the air despite the sharp summer heat. He felt like walking tonight.

## HP

“Use a lightening charm, silly!”

Luna’s clear voice rang out from the doorway of the Rusty Portkey. She waved to Harry, who was struggling to carry a magic-modified amplifier in one hand and the last satchel of his gear in the other.

“Hullo, Luna,” Harry said, setting down his things and gathering her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.”

“Not as long for me,” Luna replied. She pulled back and placed a hand on the side of his face. “I just saw you two nights ago, in my dream! You were having a very pleasant time in a bakery in Sweden. But I suppose you didn’t know you were there.”

With that, she turned and bounced back into the pub, where the rest of her band was setting up their instruments on the small stage area.

“Er,” said Harry. He picked up his gear and followed her inside.

Harry enjoyed these low-key, small-crowd kinds of gigs. He knew he could have had more musical fame if he’d wanted it, what with all the _Witch Weekly_ ’s Sexiest Wizard Alive awards and all the _Prophet_ coverage.

(Teenage girls still giggled and shrieked when they saw him, even though they were barely born when the war had happened. Harry always felt exceedingly uncomfortable in the presence of fourteen-year-old girls. Uncomfortable, and _old_.)

But at small venues like the Rusty Portkey he could just play his songs to a room full of people and feel like he was … normal. Equal. Like there wasn’t so much distance between the stage and the audience, in the end.

Harry had never expected to fall into music. After the war, he’d floundered, moping around Grimmauld Place, and Hermione had begged him to find a hobby. On a whim, Bill Weasley gave Harry his old guitar. Harry was astonished to find that he loved it.

Music had never been a thing at the Dursleys’, other than Aunt Petunia’s uninspired wireless choices. And at Hogwarts, the optional music class involved singing in a choir, accompanied by a bullfrog. The only students Harry knew who had studied music themselves were purebloods. Harry learned much later that Millicent Bulstrode played the cello beautifully. Malfoy was rumored to have been classically trained in piano since birth, of course.

But alone in his house, music was just Harry’s.

“Oh, of course, you’re amazing at guitar now, apparently,” Ron had said when he’d tumbled out of the Floo to find Harry picking out a melody in the parlour.

When Harry had sat Ron and Hermione down on the sofa later, and played them the first song he had written, Ron said, “Mate! It’s bloody brilliant!”

Hermione had tears in her eyes. “Oh, Harry. I’m so happy you’re writing songs. The rhyme scheme was only slightly uneven and I’m fairly certain you switched verb tenses mid-song, but everybody’s first try is a bit horrible, isn’t it? There’s just so much potential here, if you practice!”

“Merlin, ’Mione, what the hell,” said Ron. “At least act like his weird little song was nice, it’s like kicking a crup, seriously, woman.”

Harry had sat in the chair across from them grinning, hugging his guitar and feeling utterly loved. He could always count on his two best mates to keep him humble.

Harry found that music seeped into his life in all sorts of ways. In quiet moments after he got home from the Ministry, he practiced riffs or played along to the wireless. He absent-mindedly tapped out rhythms on pub tables. He sang to himself in the shower.

Now that he was no longer the assassination target of a megalomaniac, Harry came to realize that his mind had new permission to wander and stretch in ways it had never been able to before.

A few years after Harry picked up the guitar, Hermione said, out of the blue, “Harry, you should go to an open mic in London!” He had set the tea kettle down and marched over, throwing his arms around her and eliciting a soft “ _Oomph!_ ”

“Do you really think so?” he mumbled into her exuberantly curly hair. “Am I not horrible anymore?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. She’d squeezed her arms around him. “ _You_ were never horrible. But yes, you’re much better now. Can Ron and I tag along?”

Harry started with some small muggle coffee shops. He was surprised when people who didn’t know him still made a point to tell him how much they’d enjoyed his set. So he tried some bigger venues. He made friends and started sharing shows with them. Each new performance earned him more confidence and soon the stage felt like a second home where he could truly be himself without all the baggage of being The Boy Who Lived.

Then a muggleborn wizard out for his cousin’s stag night saw Harry Potter Himself on the stage and snapped a picture, and there went that.

Next to the Rusty’s small stage, Harry popped open his guitar case and pulled out Minerva.

(A few years back Harry had received a stern, but fond, letter:

> _“Dear Harry,_
> 
> _Professor Flitwick recently alerted me to an issue of Magician Musician Magazine that features you on its cover as their selection for the ‘MMM, Tasty! Pick of the Week.’ The interview inside was very well done._
> 
> _But good heavens, young man! Whatsoever were you thinking, naming your favourite guitar after me? I am appalled, though gratified to hear you are applying yourself to creative pursuits that have fewer opportunities for disastrous consequences than much of your time at school._
> 
> _However, as headmistress, I have a reputation to uphold. I recently overheard a student refer to me as “totally brill.” This will not do. In the future, you will do well to choose more worthy namesakes for your various possessions._
> 
> _Do say hello to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley for me and pass along my congratulations regarding their recent engagement._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Minerva McGonagall,_
> 
> _Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry”_

Ron had hung the parchment up on the refrigerator at Grimmauld Place, where it still hung, next to some of Teddy’s old drawings and a takeaway menu for the First China Star down the street.)

Harry took his wand and touched it to Minerva’s headstock, muttering a quick _Chromaticus_. The guitar came to life. Its tuning keys began to turn, and the various strings stretched themselves into pitch. As the guitar worked, Harry carefully pulled out his pedal board. Hermione had helped him charm the various effect pedals to work around magical interference, and Harry loved it.

The Rusty Portkey was beginning to fill up with patrons. Harry gazed out at the crowd absentmindedly. He recognized a Gryffindor witch who had been a few years below him (Emily? Ebony?) sitting with some friends. The bartender, who had a bright shock of magenta hair, cheerfully handed a fizzy green drink to a ruddy-faced goblin. On the other side of the room, a wizard with pale blond hair and nice shoulders was turned around in his booth, waving his arms around and arguing with a painting on the wall.

_Wait_.

Harry looked more closely.

_Was that … Malfoy? Crossly talking to_ … Harry squinted … _some guy in a painted field, surrounded by farm animals?_

The pale blond, slender, very fit man turned back to his friends and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Draco Malfoy was at his gig. Why was Malfoy at his gig? Why was Malfoy wearing a _purple shirt_?

Um, thought Harry.

“Oh, it’s nice to see you staring at Draco again. I’ve missed it,” said Luna.


	2. The Rock Star

## DM

“I SAY AGAIN, WHAT A SCRUMPTIOUS BACKSIDE!”

Draco glared at Sophie. “Why.”

“VERILY, WHAT I WOULD NOT DO TO FEEL ITS FIRMNESS WITHIN MY GRASP, SUCH SUCCULENCE!”

“It’s your fault for having such a ‘scrumptious’ arse in the first place.” Sophie was beaming from her place next to Ravi in the booth. The booth by the fucking sheep painting.

“Sophie.”

“Oh, come off it, Draco, you know that the shepherd likes all young men of a certain age, it’s not just _you_ , Merlin.”

“AND HIS SHINING PALE HAIR, UNIQUE AMONGST ALL MENFOLK, WOULD THAT I COULD SEE ITS FAIR COLOUR IN HIS SWEET NETHER, SURROUNDING HIS DELICATE TESTES—”

“Seriously, perv, shut up!” Draco twisted around and addressed the shepherd directly, “Find a bloody hobby! Shear your sheep for once! You can take up knitting and make yourself some better apparel, your little brown rag outfit is hideous, you look like a house elf. For shame, you philistine!”

Ravi hid a laugh and said, apologetically, “I tried to stop her, mate, but you know she just loves the way those sheep _baaaaa_ along to the music.”

“I would think you’d enjoy his generous boost to your ego, Villain,” Sophie grinned. “It’s really lovely how comfortable he is vocalizing his specific desires, he’s very in touch with his sexual self. The ballet ladies in the painting one booth over are so repressed, they act shocked by everything, you’d think they hadn’t lived in a pub for two hundred years. And better this fellow fancy _you_ than the sheep, eh?”

For the second time that evening, Draco let his head flop onto the surface in front of him.

“Why did Pansy move to Austria?” he asked the tabletop.

## HP

Harry didn’t recognize the two people Malfoy was sitting with. He wasn’t sure why he was relieved to see the strangers sitting rather closely to each other and seated across from Malfoy instead of beside him. But just as Harry started running through his memories to try and place who the other man and woman could be, he heard Luna at his side.

“I think you should get started, Harry. We don’t want to run late and upset the linbungle colony nesting in the eaves.”

She made a hand signal to the witch managing the amplification charms at the other end of the pub. With a wand wave, the wireless that had been playing background music faded to silence.

Harry stretched his arms up high, then let them fall back down to his sides. He rolled his head back and forth, loosening his neck. With a few shoulder shrugs, he picked up his guitar and plugged in the quartz pendant that would adapt his muggle instrument for magical sound systems.

_Let’s do this, Minerva_ , he said under his breath, and then walked up to the microphone.

“Hullo, everyone! I’m Harry Potter, and I’ve got some songs for you all.”

As he eased into his setlist, Harry relaxed. He loved when everything clicked into place, and today his fingering was strong and his voice was steady.

Harry knew he had earned the rugged emotion that he put into each word. One of his mentors in London, an elderly guitarist named Willis, had told him, “Easy lives make boring music. Let those hardships pour out in the song, Harry.”

Harry’s life had never been easy. But he was so grateful for the joy he had found on the stage.

Willis had also shared some tricks of the trade, in a voice gritty with the effects of decades of cigarettes and smoky bars, “You’ve got to get all up on that mic, kid. We can’t hear you when you hide that voice away.”

Harry felt his face stretching into a smile as he leaned in close to sing.

## DM

“Okay, I think it’s super cute that he _told us who he is_. As if everyone here, and everyone in the whole bloody wizarding world, doesn’t know who _Harry Potter_ is.”

Sophie was the kind of person who talked through class, through meetings, through muggle films… so, naturally, Sophie was talking now.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting him to be _good_. Like, I thought maybe he was sort of a novelty act, but wow, I’d listen to this even if he wasn’t Harry Potter! He’s so _sensual_ , my god, look at the way he’s almost _making out_ with that microphone.”

Draco was having trouble listening to Sophie, because Harry Potter was almost making out with that microphone. And Potter was _glowing_. His smile was radiant. His mussed-up dark hair moved as he swayed with the beat. He was gorgeous.

_Huh_. Draco furrowed his brow and quickly looked down at the table.

When he looked up, Ravi was watching him with an interested expression.

“Whatever you think you know, Gupta, you’ve got it all wrong,” Draco told him.

“Wait, what’s up with Draco?” said Sophie, catching on. She studied his face for a moment, absentmindedly twirling her shoulder-length hair. Draco struggled to keep a neutral expression.

“I seem to remember you and Harry Potter had a ‘ _uniquely contentious relationship_...’” she said. “I always thought that you two just fought all the time. Wait. Oh my god, did you two hook up at Hogwarts? Isn’t he pansexual now? Are you into him?”

Harry’s amicable break-up with Ginny some years ago and his subsequent dalliances had been covered extensively by the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_. The new LGBTQ+ wizarding magazine, _Ministry of Queer_ , had named him their very first “Queer of the Year.”

Pansy had sent Draco the issue with a note that said,

> “ _Darling — too bad this magazine wasn’t around for your (unwilling) coming out debut! Don’t worry, you’ll always be Best Queer to me. xoxo -P_
> 
> _p.s. I know you ‘don’t care’ but the best photos are on page 26_.”

Draco quickly schooled his features and rolled his eyes.

“No, Sophie, Potter and I did not ‘hook up’ at Hogwarts. And I think he identifies as bi?” Draco tried to look merely knowledgeable, not personally invested. “But regardless, we were only children at Hogwarts. We were just … pawns of our various regimes. We insulted each other a lot, I broke his nose, he sliced me open, he stole my wand, he saved my life, you know, normal school nemesis stuff, you read the article.”

Sophie gaped at him with creeping delight.

“Draco, you’re turning pink. Your ears are pink.”

“It’s just odd to remember all that stuff, what a prat I was, that’s all,” Draco lied.

“ _Pink_. And you didn’t answer my other question. Do you have a thing for Harry Potter, your ‘ _perfectly normal, it’s normal and not at all unnatural-slash-unhealthy to have an intense and consuming enmity for years and years starting at age eleven_ ’ nemesis?”

She paused and looked at the stage, where Potter was singing a slow song with his eyes closed and his hips gently swaying as he strummed.

“I think most people have a thing for Harry Potter,” said Ravi. He gestured vaguely at the whole of the man. “I mean.”

Sophie flapped her hand to dismiss him. “Most people have a _lowercase_ thing for Harry Potter, but I want to know if Draco has a _capital letter_ Thing for Harry Potter. A _Thing_ , Wrought With History And Shared Glances And _Destiny_. Merlin’s beard, why has this never come up before? Draco, you’re so uncomfortable, I _love_ it.”

“I am not uncomfortable.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am merely confused why we are talking through the live music we came to see.”

“Oh, is _that_ why we came here tonight?” Sophie pursed her lips, holding back a grin, and shared a Look with Ravi that Draco pointedly ignored.

Draco made a show of turning his body away from them to face the stage. He instantly realised his mistake. Now there was nothing keeping him from watching the mindfuck that was Harry Potter playing guitar in tight jeans and a starting-to-be-somewhat-sweaty t-shirt, stomping his left foot and singing with a goddamn smile. Damn him.

## HP

On stage, Harry finished his second-to-last song and opened his eyes to scan the crowd, which showed its appreciation with a pleasant smattering of applause and a whoop from behind the bar. He caught the bartender’s eye and nodded in her direction, grinning.

“Thank you so much for listening, this has been brilliant,” he said into the microphone. “Don’t go anywhere, Luna Lovegood and the—er—”

He stuttered as his eyes locked with Malfoy, who was staring directly at him with an odd, pinched look on his face. For much of the set Malfoy had been chatting and laughing with his friends, so Harry was able to tune him out. (Though he couldn’t help but notice how Malfoy’s foot, clad in a _brightly patterned sock, what the hell_ , had been swaying to the beat.) But now a barrage of thoughts and memories flooded in. A familiarity of sorts settled over Harry as he struggled to find his place again.

He coughed, swallowed, and scratched an errant batch of hair above his ear. “Er, sorry. Luna Lovegood and the Good Love are up next! They’re a treat, you won’t be disappointed. Again, I’m Harry Potter, and I’ve got one more song for everyone. It’s one of the first songs I ever played live. This is ‘Forest of Dean.’”

‘Forest of Dean’ had a wistful melody that built to a driving rhythm, and it was one of Harry’s favorites. Conscious of Malfoy’s watchful eye, he took a deep breath and began to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super super jealous of Luna Lovegood and the Good Love as a band name and wish I could name my band that.


	3. An Auspicious Meeting

## HP

“Great show, Harry! I’m always pleased as pumpkin juice when the live music isn’t awful.” Euphrasie, the Rusty’s bartender, passed him a tall glass of dragon ale. She waved away his payment. “Performers drink free, you know that.”

“Thanks, ‘Phrasie.” Harry put a handful of sickles in the tip jar and took a sip of his drink. Sitting down for a minute was a welcome respite after standing at the microphone so long. He rolled his neck and relaxed into his seat, resting his arms on the ancient wooden bar.

A soft hand slipped into the crook of his arm. He turned to his left to find Luna at his side. She’d put on a pale green cardigan since earlier, and Harry smiled at the embroidered flowering sweet potato vines that appeared to be growing up the sleeves.

“Harry, that was so lovely,” Luna beamed up at him. “Your spirit made the building very happy, can you feel it? My band and I appreciate you putting the Rusty Portkey in such a good mood.”

“Er, of course, no problem,” said Harry. He squeezed her hand and gave her a grin. With so many fans and strangers and ministry officials always wanting things from him, Harry was continually grateful for Luna’s kind authenticity. “Now get up there and rock our socks off.”

## DM

“FLAMING FLAMEL’S KNICKERS! I MUST SAY, THAT YOUNG MUSIC MAKER AROUSED ME SOMETHING SPLENDID.”

The shepherd had politely remained quiet for the live performance. But now, in the break between sets, he was enthusiastically giving his review to the table.

“FORSOOTH, MILORDS, THAT SWEET AND TANTALIZING MOUTH SINGS SUCH DULCET TONES. JUST PICTURE THAT LAD’S SKILLED TONGUE ENGAGING IN MORE RUDE AND BACCHANALIAN DELIGHTS, I DO SAY!”

Sophie gasped dramatically. “Draco, I believe your admirer has found another! Will you stand for this? You must be crushed!”

Draco pointedly ignored both Sophie and shepherd and turned to Ravi. “Gupta, you never finished your story from last week about the Finch fortune and that old witch who got stuck in her vault.”

Ravi’s eyes brightened. “Oh God, yeah! I’d forgotten about her!”

“Oooh, what’s this?” said Sophie.

“ _Well_.” Ravi sat up straighter. “The Finches have one of those vaults on Level N, the ones that were set up back in the ’30s when it was in vogue to require poetry recitations as one part of the access process, right?”

“ _Poetry_ ,” breathed Sophie. “How theatrical! What kind of poetry?”

“Hmmm… I don’t know? Like those fancy poems people back then would have stood around saying from memory in dramatic voices, with, like, flower crowns and flowy sleeves and shit…?”

Draco scoffed. “‘Flowy sleeves?’”

Ravi laughed. “You answer, then, Draco. These are your kind of people, anyway.”

Draco inhaled dramatically, gearing up to protest, then stopped and let his shoulders drop, deflated. “I suppose I _do_ know exactly what kind of poetry. So I can’t act like they _aren’t_ ‘my kind of people.’ Let’s see, lots of T.S. Eliot, probably, that one about J. Alfred Prufrock? Definitely Euphegenia LeFer’s Blue Faerie Odes. Maybe some Auden, but only the proper society ones, not the nice homo-erotic pieces…”

He trailed off, blushing, as he recalled the exact reasons why he was quite so familiar with W.H. Auden. A younger, more confused, version of Draco had stumbled upon a book of Auden’s love letters in the Manor’s library (clearly placed there pre-Lucius) and had been thrilled and astonished to realise they were written to _men_. With a sigh, the current version of Draco spared a moment to send some strength through time and space to his younger self.

“Oh, shut up,” he told Sophie and Ravi, who were staring at him with barely contained laughter. “Why are we talking about poetry, poetry is stupid.”

Ravi, in infinite compassion, continued on with his story.

“Well! Anyway. Apparently Mrs. Finch knew the right poem to get in, but her husband had changed the poem she needed to get back out. So she was in there getting some jeweled brooch thing she needed, and then the vault door shut, and then she _freaked out_. She kept pulling that little emergency cord that all the vaults have to have now, ever since they found that old corpse and the Ministry passed that law, remember? — anyway, she was pulling the cord, and _shrieking_ , and the horns were all blaring, but we couldn’t really do anything, because she didn’t know the right poem and the override spells require authorization from all magical signatures associated with the vault. And then the Aurors showed up from the cord alert, but they couldn’t do anything either, until finally somebody found the husband in some pub off Diagon and brought him by to say the poem, which turned out to be this horribly bawdy song with 38 verses and every single verse was about _breasts_.”

“Ugh,” said Sophie, “why are people so obsessed with breasts, mine are huge and I hate them, honestly, I knock things off tables all the time. Breasts are stupid.”

“Ugh,” said Draco, wrinkling his nose, “Breasts.”

“Er, why are we all saying ‘breasts’?” a new voice said, as a shadow moved across the table and a tall form appeared at the head of the booth.

Draco froze and felt his stomach drop. He knew that voice. That voice had haunted him in various ways for decades.

“Oh, _hello_!” said Sophie.

## HP

Harry smiled back at the friendly blonde woman at Malfoy’s table. “Hi, everyone! I just wanted to thank you all for coming by tonight and introduce myself. I’m Harry.”

She beamed at him, “Ha! Yes, you absolutely are. Harry James ‘The Nemesis’ Potter, himself!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the brown-skinned man at the table jab his elbow sharply into her side.

“Oh Merlin, sorry, I’m Sophie,” she gushed. “And this is Ravi, my boyfriend — “

“Hey, mate,” the man said with a friendly nod.

“— And I _believe_ you already know Draco.”

In spite of himself, Harry let out a wry bark of laughter. He could hear the italics in her voice, and he found himself very curious as to what Malfoy’s friends knew about their past from his perspective.

“You could say that,” Harry said. Scratching his head and gathering up his courage, he finally looked over to Malfoy’s side of the table. “Hullo, Malfoy.”

Harry hadn’t been able to help himself from watching Malfoy and his friends from his seat at the bar while Luna’s band started their set. He was, admittedly, quite taken with Luna’s ethereal voice, the fairy-lights charmed to blink to the beat, and her drummer’s use of hovering plimpies. But Harry found his eyes repeatedly drifting toward Malfoy’s booth.

He just didn’t _get_ it. The Malfoy he knew was posh and snarky, cold and calculated, but the man he had watched was almost constantly smiling. This Malfoy was _laughing_ , and making his friends laugh, and laughing _with_ them, not at them. This Malfoy was tucking his side-parted hair neatly behind his ears, where it landed softly and was barely long enough to stay in place next to his jawline. Harry couldn’t look away.

But now that Harry was at his table, the pinched, unreadable look was back on Malfoy’s face.

“Potter,” Malfoy said curtly.

The woman—Sophie—was watching Malfoy closely. She turned to Harry, nearly vibrating with energy. “It’s splendid to meet you, Harry. Your set was delightful!” She gestured to the empty space in the booth across the table, where Malfoy sat, staring at Harry and blinking rapidly. “Would you like to join us?”

Malfoy’s head whipped around to look at Sophie. “Um, I—”

“Thanks, I’d like that!” said Harry. He smiled. “I only overheard the last bit of your story, Ravi, what’s this about, now?”

## DM

Feeling a bit like he was watching himself from a very far distance, Draco scooted over in the smooth wooden booth to make room for Potter. Draco’s whole body felt like it was tingling, pulled taut and alert.

He heard his mother in his head, “ _Relax your neck, darling. Shoulders down, head up._ ”

Draco breathed in and out slowly. It was fine. He was fine. Come on, Draco, he told himself sternly, _You lived with the Dark Lord for a year, for Circe’s sake, you can sit next to Harry Potter without falling apart_.

Next to him, the man in question was laughing comfortably as Ravi caught him up to speed on the adventures of Gringott’s tech support. The unlucky witch had been aghast to see just how many prominent members of the Diagon Alley establishment were present to witness her husband’s robust singing.

“Poor Mrs. Finch!” Potter said, taking a gulp of his ale and resting his forearms on the table. “I’ve never been on Level N.”

Draco was appalled to see the ease with which the man had slotted himself into Sophie and Ravi’s good graces.

“Hmm, I actually don’t think you’re allowed on that level anyway, mate,” Ravi said.

“Security is very tight at Gringott’s,” Sophie chimed in.

“No, I mean that Harry, specifically, is not allowed on that level. After the break-in and dragon incident, the goblins added a whole batch of very specific wards particularly attuned to him. It’s called the Potter Protocol.”

Draco snuck a quick glance to see Potter’s mouth drop open and a faint red color seep into his cheeks.

“Well, that’s hardly fair,” Potter mumbled, “Ron and Hermione were there too.”

Sophie laughed delightedly. “I remember hearing about the dragon! We got to Hogwarts the year after that, you three were _legends_. Probably half of the girls in our year had posters of you, Harry. Mostly the one where you’re brandishing your wand heroically on the castle steps and brooding into middle-distance, with your hair whipping about.”

Draco found it unfortunate that he knew the exact photo Sophie was referencing.

“I thought Hermione was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” she continued, sighing. “And she was so smart! I read the stories, she was behind all the best plans you three had—no offense, Harry—and thank _God_ she got the Order of Merlin, First Class, too, because women are notoriously under-recognized for the highest Ministry awards, it’s so unbalanced. Ugh, Hermione Granger totally should have been in Ravenclaw, you lot didn’t appreciate her the way we would have.”

“Ugh, Granger,” said Draco, barely meaning to join the conversation but unable to stop himself. “She was the only reason I wasn’t first in our year. And then she grew up to be _attractive_ and _successful_ as well, with stunning _cheekbones_ , it’s terribly unfair, honestly. Though I do rather approve of her bill to regulate Veela allure and Class 3 love potions, that was a nice bit of legislation.”

He suddenly became aware of the person sitting next to him, who was now gaping openly.

“What?” Draco said, finally looking Potter in the eye. Potter’s eyes were wide and green below his raised eyebrows. It must have been the lenses of his glasses sharpening the flecks of color in his irises, because they were almost shimmering in the light of the hundred-year old sconce on the brick wall behind Draco’s head, and _oh fuck, he was still looking Potter in the eye, what the fuck, how was he supposed to get out of this, now?_

“Er,” said Harry, a bit frantically. “Nothing. Hermione’s great. Ron too! So great. Love them.” 

“Oh, _Ron Weasley_ ,” Sophie gasped. Draco breathed a slow sigh of relief, commanding his heart to stop pounding as Potter finally looked back across the table. “The Ron posters were fantastic too. He was leaning against that stone wall, and his shirt was super wet, for some reason—”

Draco snorted.

Sophie mimed fanning herself. “Those _freckles_ … Honestly, Ron Weasley may have been my sexual awakening. I always thought he was fitter than you, Harry, no offense.”

Harry grinned, and said cheerfully, “None taken, Sophie. None at all.”


	4. Closing Down the Rusty Portkey

## HP

Harry couldn’t believe how quickly the evening seemed to pass. The foursome had chattered away happily for hours. The conversation flowed easily, and Harry didn’t think he’d laughed this much in ages.

He bonded with Ravi over their deep, shared love of both curry and Muggle true-crime documentaries. “The horribly acted re-enactments!!!” Ravi enthused. “The dramatic interviews where they zoom in way too close! Mmm, _perfection_ , seriously, mate.”

Harry greatly enjoyed Sophie’s enthusiastic retelling of the seventh-year Ravenclaw tradition of “Pince-ing.” Best he could gather, this involved 1. Going to the Hogwarts Library, 2. Selecting a particular catalogue number at random, and 3. Heading to the stacks and seeing who could find the most sexually explicit passage the material contained therein. “Books can be very _educational_ ,” Sophie had told him with an over-the-top wink. “You’d be amazed what misses being classified as ‘Restricted’ just because it’s in the middle of an extraordinarily boring text that no one has read for centuries. The challenge is going up to Pince and checking out _Ptolemians’s Poultices for Pains, Pangs, and Pus_ with a straight face.”

Harry finally met the portrait shepherd, who had reappeared after Luna’s band was finished playing to regale the booth with his take on the table’s occupants.

“MY STARS! BY PERSEPHONE’S PANTS, I MUST SAY THIS IS THE FINEST PAIR OF LADS TO GRACE MY SIGHT IN MANY A YEAR! THE PALE ROSY BLUSH OF THE FAIR ONE, NEXT TO THE RICH HUE OF THE RUGGED ONE’S RAVISHING THROAT—”

“Er, am _I_ ‘the rugged one’ here…?” Harry had whispered to Malfoy beside him.

“DIONYSUS HIMSELF WOULD DELIGHT! I SHALL RECALL THESE VERDANT SPECIMENS FOR NIGHTS TO COME, AS I LIE AWAKE AND ALONE ON MY LUSH HILLSIDE, TENDING TO MY OWN CARNAL URGES AND IMAGINING THEIR STRONG, WRITHING BODIES—”

“Don’t engage, Potter, it only encourages him!” Malfoy had said through clenched teeth, after a bit of a coughing fit.

When Luna came by to say hi, Harry had introduced her to “my new friends,” and then had looked back at the table to see Sophie’s beaming grin and a quiet, pleased smile from Ravi.

And through it all, Harry had sat next to Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who was, surprisingly, fantastic company. Draco Malfoy, who was currently scooting closer and pressing his firm shoulder against Harry’s.

“Um,” said Harry.

“Merlin, Potter, let me out, I’ve got to piss like a hippogriff,” Malfoy complained.

“Ah!” said Harry. He quickly slipped out of the booth, catching his ankle on the slightly raised platform. Nearly toppling over, he did an awkward dance to let Malfoy pass. Harry watched him walk toward the loo at the back of the Rusty Portkey, still marveling over Malfoy’s purple shirt. It was such a departure from the stern black and white apparel Harry remembered.

When he turned around, Sophie was chatting with two of the painted ballerinas from one booth over, who had come over to invite the shepherd to a game of cards. Ravi was watching Harry.

“This has been fun, mate,” Ravi said.

“Absolutely!” Harry said, meaning it. “I’m so glad I stopped by your table.”

Ravi smiled. “It’s sort of nice to learn you’re just…normal, if I’m honest. We learned so much about you lot in school. And Draco usually changes the subject away from his Hogwarts days, if it comes up.”

“Oh Merlin, it’s _so weird_ you _studied_ us in class,” Harry groaned, then furrowed his brow as the rest of Ravi’s words caught up with him. “It’s strange, you know? Like, I lived through it all, and so did Malfoy, but it also feels like this whole other life that happened to different people, or something. Like, I love my friends and all that, but I am _so fucking glad_ that it’s all behind me now.”

Harry was surprised at the depth of feeling that surged out. He fidgeted in his seat, hoping he hadn’t made things awkward. But Ravi just looked at him quietly, blinked a few times, and then said, “Huh. Draco’s said almost the exact same thing.”

Harry blinked back, thoughts whirling.

Sophie turned around abruptly from her conversation with the painting.

“Ooooh, are we talking about Draco while he’s gone in the loo?? Draco’s amazing, we love him, Harry, he’s so weird and so posh and so fashionable, but also so awkward, ugh, he’s like our adorable little thirty-something toddler, isn’t he, Ravi? I just want to _squeeze him_ half the time, he’s so _earnest_.”

She continued to tell Harry about how “sweet” Draco was with their apothecary customers and how “darling” he was when he got absorbed in making potions. Harry knew all these adjectives, but he had never in his life imagined they could ever be applied to _Draco Sodding Malfoy_.

Pondering this, he almost missed Malfoy’s return.

“Budge up, Potter!” Malfoy said, poking at Harry’s bicep until Harry scooted further into the booth to make room.

“ _Villain_! We were just talking about how _cute_ you are!” Sophie squealed up at Malfoy.

Malfoy squinted at her. “How drunk _are_ you, Satterwaite?”

“Only mildly tipsy, my _adorable man_ ,” Sophie cooed in response.

Malfoy shook his head in mock exasperation and sat back down.

“So,” he said, excitedly waving his arms and nearly whacking Harry in the face. “You will never believe who I just saw snorting pixie dust in the loo.”

## DM

As the night wore on and more empty glasses collected on the table, Draco felt a creeping sense of unease.

_What if this is it? What if Potter just…leaves, and nothing has changed?_

“Potter!” he heard himself say abruptly into a comfortable pause in the conversation. _Oh bollocks, fucking hell, I said that out loud._

“Er, yeah…?” Potter said.

Sophie had her eyes closed, resting her head on Ravi’s shoulder. Ravi was absentmindely twirling her hair and watching Luna’s bassist throw wizard darts in the corner.

Potter was looking at Draco expectantly.

Having accidentally started this conversation, Draco squared his shoulders to continue it. Before he could change his mind, he said, “Would you like to grab coffees with me sometime tomorrow? To continue catching up?”

_Oh Merlin_. Draco felt color rising to his cheeks. _What the fuck, Draco? He probably has way better plans than ’grabbing coffees,’ and anyway who says ‘grabbing coffees,’ plural, what bizarre sort of idiot are you, Draco, I mean seriously_ —

“Sure,” said Potter.

“Seriously??” _Oh my god, Draco, pull it together._

Potter adjusted his glasses, then grinned. “Yeah, that sounds great, actually. Maybe in the afternoon? There’s a new tea shop that Hermione really likes not far from the Ministry.”

Draco blinked. “Ah! Is it the one with all the bookcases? The Oak & Pomegranate?”

“Yes! That one. I’ve not been there yet, but Hermione raves about their food.”

“Well of course, Potter, they have the most amazing pastries, you don’t even know. Ugh, there are these chocolate ones that have little cheering charms _baked in_. Your life will be changed.”

Potter was still grinning. Draco thought this was possibly the longest uninterrupted Potter smile he’d ever seen directed at him.

“You’re on, Malfoy. Let’s say a bit after lunch?”

Draco found himself smiling back. “Perfect,” he said.

After saying goodbye to Luna, closing their tabs and gathering their things, the foursome headed out the heavy front doors of the Rusty Portkey. The summer night sky outside was clear and starry, disrupted only by a single streetlamp on the corner. Draco could see his namesake constellation winking at him from the Northwest.

“Harry, I’m _so_ glad we got to meet you,” said Sophie, looking earnestly up at him.

“Me, too,” said Potter, smiling back. “We should all hang out again some time.”

“Absolutely, mate,” said Ravi, clapping him on the shoulder. “Draco, don’t forget you’re coming by for dinner on Sunday, we’ll leave the Floo open for you.”

With a wave (Ravi) and a few dramatically blown kisses (Sophie), the pair turned and headed toward the Apparition point.

Draco was left standing on the sidewalk holding a bizarrely heavy amp. Next to him, Potter struggled with a guitar case, a loose cable looped over his shoulder.

“Potter, have you forgotten you’re a wizard?” Draco asked. “No one with a wand should ever lug crap this heavy around, what the hell.”

Potter looked a bit sheepish as he opened the back door of a beat-up Muggle car of some sort.

“Hermione always tells me to shrink it all down into a small bag and Apparate with it, but my shrinking charms seem to muck with the equipment,” he told Draco. “Plus, I like driving!”

Draco loaded in the amp and shut the car door, eyeing the vehicle suspiciously.

“Well, Potter, you enjoy the ride home in your giant metal death trap. I shall enjoy my nice moonlit walk, free and unencumbered by anything heavy. Like a proper, self-respecting wizard.”

Potter was _smiling at him_ again and Draco did not find it adorable at all.

“See you tomorrow, Ferret,” Potter said, as he slid into the front seat.

“Looking forward to it, Scarhead,” Draco replied, then turned to head home under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I looked up star charts to see which direction Draco is visible from in the sky over the UK in summer, because I am nothing if not committed to the best, most accurate, reading experience for all y'all.


	5. The Oak & Pomegranate

## HP

Harry was staring at himself in the mirror.

He suspected that anyone he might ask would have ideas or opinions about what one should wear to meet their (former?) nemesis for coffee on a Saturday afternoon, but he found himself not wanting to tell anyone. At least not yet.

Harry had long gotten used to the unsolicited reactions of nearly every random person in the wizarding world to, well, nearly everything he did. What was another matter entirely was having to face Hermione Granger or Molly Weasley, before he had sorted himself out. His friends and family liked to smile at him and then give each other knowing looks. Or say things like, “Oh, _Harry_ ,” and “Ooh, that explains so much!” when he told them things.

So, for some reason he hadn’t entirely figured out yet, meeting Malfoy for coffee was squarely in the category of things Harry wanted to keep to himself for now.

Which meant he was on his own for outfits.

“Bah! Ye look as fair as ye are able, quit yer gawkin’,” said his bathroom mirror.

Harry felt sure that he had the least helpful mirror in all of England. One would think any mirror that had been in Grimmauld Place for a century would have acquired some manners, but, alas. Though Harry did enjoy imagining the indignation this mirror had inspired in generations of uptight Black family members.

Harry scratched his head and adjusted his simple black t-shirt. He was operating under the assumption that “simple” might equal “not overly noticeable” and thus he could slide under the radar a bit. So jeans, trainers, and a t-shirt it was.

“Oh, bah, yerself,” he told his mirror, and headed out the door.

On his way to the Oak & Pomegranate, Harry took the opportunity to walk through his favourite park near the Ministry.

As a one-of-a-kind Ministry of Magic employee of sorts, Harry filled various diplomatic and PR roles that arose. He met with ambassadors, gave comforting and/or stirring speeches, and generally tried to use his fame for good.

The old, tucked-away garden park he had found nearby had been a lifesaver when Harry needed to get away for a moment. He hadn’t often spent time there on weekends, and he was pleased to see an elderly pair of witches sitting on one of the benches, enjoying the summer greenery.

Even taking his time, Harry reached the tea shop early. He opened the door, walked in, and gasped.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t this. The tea shop was full of twisty wooden bookcases, appearing to grow like trees out of the deep, oak wood floor. Between the bookcases were various little nooks with comfortable chairs and small tables, perfect for private reading or conversation. Eaves like branches rose from the bookcase trees to a high sky-blue ceiling dotted with painted gold filigree.

Ceramic teapots with wings were fluttering about, refilling patrons’ mugs and nesting in the bookcases. Greenery spilled out of hanging baskets, and Harry could hear what sounded like—but surely couldn’t actually be—a whispering brook.

It was Hermione Granger heaven and Harry felt right at home. He took a deep breath, letting his nose fill with the rich smells of coffee, bergamot, and masala chai. 

Before he could settle in, he turned back to the door and nearly gasped again.

Draco Malfoy was standing outside on the sidewalk, checking something on his mobile. He looked…Harry had to face the facts. Malfoy looked fucking amazing. He was wearing skinny trousers and brown boots and what appeared to be a _brightly patterned lightweight jumper, what the hell_. He was squinting in the sun, which was backlighting his stupidly gorgeous hair, and Harry was stunned.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” the Hermione in his head said knowingly.

## DM

Draco was currently second-guessing every choice he had ever made.

What in _the actual fuck_ made him voluntarily request to spend _more time_ with _Harry Potter_? Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, and General Jumbler of Draco’s Thoughts Since Basically Forever? This was madness.

After breakfast, Draco had spent an hour changing his clothes repeatedly and trying to style his hair without making it look like he was trying too hard. (He still grimaced every time he thought about his overconfident slicking-it-all-straight-back phase at Hogwarts. Draco had long ago vowed to never again be quite so blatant in hair styling.)

Then, he had sat in his chair in the front room and stared out the window, thinking about Ethan, of all people. He thought about the beginning of that relationship, when he had thought he was so happy. He thought about the end, when he had felt so small and so broken. Then, he shook his head, got up abruptly, and changed his clothes again, just for a fresh start.

Draco made himself a light lunch that he picked at while reading the most recent _Potioner’s Weekly_. He had debated fire-calling Pansy, but he wasn’t sure how to explain the surreal situation he had found himself in. He thought about texting Sophie or Ravi, but then he remembered that they were both out at a Gupta family gathering today.

So he had squared his shoulders and determinedly Apparated to the corner right next to the Oak & Pomegranate before he could change his mind. Now he was standing outside, scrolling through his messages to see if he had gotten anything new since the last time he checked, less than two minutes ago. He hadn’t.

_Draco, for Circe’s sake, just go in._

He looked up from his mobile and saw Harry Fucking Potter himself right inside the door, looking back at him. Potter looked, as ever, like a recently-shagged rock star. He was casually and effortlessly cool, and Draco found himself feeling self-conscious in his carefully tended clothing.

But then Potter did this wrinkle thing with his nose (to push up his glasses, perhaps?) and he looked so very _eleven-years-old_ that Draco accidentally broke into a grin. Potter blinked in surprise, then smiled back a bit sheepishly.

Draco reached out and opened the door, still grinning.

“Afternoon, Potter! Let’s acquire ourselves some _pastries_!”

## HP

Harry followed Malfoy’s confident strides over to the counter and peered into the glass pastry case. A small sign nestled within the rows of scones, muffins and tarts read, “All Cheering Charms utilised in our pastries meet Code 5.0.8c of the Ministry’s Safe and Wholesome Ingestibles Act and are suitable for all ages.”

Malfoy was perusing the beverage menu.

“Oh, bother, I never know what I want, there are like forty different things that look amazing today,” he said.

“Let me see,” said Harry, and scooted closer to peer at the list in Malfoy’s hands. “Oh Lord, yeah, that’s a lot. _Colum_!”

He tapped his wand to the menu and the various items started swirling about on the page, shrinking and growing and re-sorting themselves. When the words were finished moving, several of the beverage descriptions were glowing.

“What the devil was _that_ incantation, Potter?” said Draco, eyebrows raised.

Harry smiled. “It’s a sorting spell Hermione made up. It removes items with ingredients you don’t like and ranks the others for you based on your mood and preferences. I’m a bit relieved it worked, actually, sometimes her spells need more focus than I’ve got.”

Draco stared down at the modified list in his hands. “I wonder if I could tweak that to work with my ingredients ledgers? Or my _wardrobe_? Merlin, I’m having so many ideas, it’s such a simple idea, but it has such potential for modification! I want to know much more about how it determines the caster’s intent, this is fascinating—”

“Are Misters Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy being ready to order?” said a squeaky voice from in front of them.

Harry looked up to see the large eyes of a house elf. She was wearing a pink dress and blinking down at them from a high stool behind the counter.

“Pipsy is recognizing you, sirs,” she said, “but Pipsy is priding herself on being discreet in her establishment, so Mister Malfoy and Mister Harry Potter needn’t worry, Pipsy isn’t drawing attention.”

Harry smiled back at her. “Thank you, Pipsy. I’ll have a Cherry Cheer-up tart and a Turkish coffee, please. And Malfoy will have…Malfoy, did you make your mind up?”

Draco was still staring at the beverage menu, having tried his own muttered _Colum_. “Well, apparently I want a pot of Assam tea with some milk and honey. Who knew? How does it _do_ that? And I’ll take…that chocolate pastry, those are my favorite, they’re so _good_ , Potter, seriously.”

As Pipsy rang up their order, she told them firmly, “Pipsy has always been wanting to tell Harry Potter how grateful she is being to him. Pipsy is knowing Dobby and Winky well, and Pipsy is hearing many stories. And Pipsy is knowing about Mister Malfoy’s apology letters to the Manor elves, too, and Pipsy is seeing Harry Potter being friends with Mister Malfoy. So sirs don’t need to be worrying about paying Pipsy today.”

Harry was used to expressions of gratitude, but Pipsy’s words were unexpectedly moving.

Touched, he reached out to squeeze her hand. “That means a lot, Pipsy. Thank you.”

He glanced over to where Malfoy was standing next to him, looking intently at the little elf.

“Pipsy,” Malfoy said finally, a bit flustered, “thank you, that’s very kind.”

She beamed back at them. “Pipsy is thanking _you_ , sirs.” She handed them each a small pastry plate. With a wave and a promise to have their drinks to them quickly, Pipsy turned around, climbed down from her stool, and bustled toward the mugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My invention of the _Colum_ sorting spell is blatant wish fulfillment. If I were a wizard I would use it ALL THE DAMN TIME.


	6. The Flying Teapot

## DM

With Potter at his side, Draco set off into the bookcase forest in search of a nice table. He was a bit rattled by Pipsy’s reminder of the War and of the apology missives Draco had sent to a whole slew of people and creatures not long after. Potter himself had received one, as had nearly all of his friends, but it was the kind of thing you didn’t really bring up in conversation later.

He wondered now what Potter had thought back then.

Before he could get too far down that train of thought, however, Potter said abruptly, “Oooh, this one’s _perfect_.”

Draco snapped to attention to find that they were standing in front of a nook between two bookshelves. A colorful mosaic-top table with curly carved wooden legs sat between two narrow but cosy wing-backed armchairs. In one corner, a bright hanging basket spilled over with fuchsias and green leafy vines.

Without waiting for approval, Potter plopped gracelessly into a burgundy armchair with golden embroidery, grinning at Draco. “I mean, it’s such a _cliche_ , but we can’t _not_ sit here at this point.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he sat in his own Slytherin-green armchair. “How unoriginal, Potter.”

Potter waved his hand in a vague gesture of not caring and crossed his legs comfortably.

“This place is so cool!” he said, looking around excitedly. Not far from his head, a teapot was nesting happily in the eaves.

Draco was reminded again of Harry Potter at age eleven, who had been in awe of Hogwarts and all of its displays of magic. Potter still had an innocence about him, even now, if Draco thought about it.

And if he was honest with himself, he envied Potter’s ability to be wide-eyed in wonder. Back at school, Draco had seen enthusiasm in general as below him. He preferred to (try to) look knowing and sophisticated. Then, as his father asserted more influence and everything took a turn toward War, Draco had wrapped himself in a protective cloak of cynicism and apathy. This tendency had been hard to shake, but he had tried, since then, to be more open.

Today, Draco made a choice.

“It really _is_ amazing,” he said, taking a moment to look more closely at the intricately carved bookshelves reaching toward the ceiling. “Last time, I was next to a magical window painting that showed the current scenery and weather of a portion of the Black Forest, near Strasbourg, maybe? It was beautiful. It was rainy there, but everything was so _green_ , like you could just walk right into the woods.”

Draco turned back to see Potter looking at him, eyes bright.

He felt his face flush. _Breathe, Draco_.

“I like trees,” he found himself telling Potter, for some godforsaken reason. “When I was small I would climb the apple trees at the Manor all the time. And walk around in the wood beyond the orchard in summer. It was so peaceful. Before Hogwarts that wood was my favorite place in the world.”

“I can hardly imagine you smaller than you were first year of Hogwarts,” Potter said, squinting a bit as he studied Draco thoughtfully.

“Lots of tiny britches and knee socks,” Draco told him. “And rosy cheeks. I was _adorable_ , Potter.”

Potter’s laugh, open and happy, made a small morsel of pride swell in Draco’s chest.

“I’m sure you were,” Potter said. “God, I would have loved to have ‘a wood’ to wander around in back when I was young. Sometimes I would crawl into the shrubbery up against the house and imagine I was somewhere else entirely. Dudley never tried to get to me when I was under the privet — too scratchy on his arms. I didn’t mind the scratches, though. The peace and quiet was worth it.”

Draco had read Rita Skeeter’s unauthorized Harry Potter biography, same as everyone. He had an inkling of the life Potter had lived before Hogwarts and in the summers. But even Skeeter had speculated much of the early years, as Potter never gave details willingly and his confidants were fiercely protective of his story.

“Dudley is…your muggle cousin?” Draco asked carefully.

Potter’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. He was a bit of a bully.” He paused a moment, then looked down. “You know, when I first met you, you reminded me of him.”

Draco’s heart beat a quick _thump thump_. He had tried so hard since the war to be brave.

“That day at Madame Malkin’s?” he asked. He took a slow, deep breath in. “I’m sure I was a right prat, that day.”

Lifting his head quickly, Potter looked Draco in the eye. “You were,” he said.

Draco forced himself not to look away from the startlingly green-eyed gaze. He couldn’t read Potter’s expression.

“You were also eleven, Malfoy,” Potter said finally. “Christ, I see Teddy and his friends sometimes and think of what I was doing at their age. Do you ever think about how _small_ we were? Even at the end of it. We were so damn young.”

_Deep breaths, Draco._

“I think about it every single day,” Draco answered him.

## HP

A teapot whizzed right by Harry’s head, almost clipping his left ear.

“Oh _fuck_!” he sputtered.

A delicately flowered ceramic mug materialized in front of Malfoy. The teapot poured steaming tea into it and then tucked its wings and settled on the table. With a crystalline chime, a tiny pitcher with golden wings flitted over and added a plop of milk, followed by a sparkling honey dipper.

Harry burst out laughing.

He looked over to see Malfoy’s startled expression change from confusion to a growing smile.

“Potter, _your face_ ,” Malfoy beamed at him in delight.

“I’m sure!” Harry managed to say between belly laughs as a copper cezve of coffee and two pastries arrived in their nook. “We were getting all serious and intimate and then that thing scared the shit out of me, oh my God.”

Malfoy’s wide grin was a revelation. Last night, Harry had been at Malfoy’s side and could only steal occasional glances without being weird, but here at the Oak & Pom he could see every expression clearly.

He tried to calm himself down with a slow exhale. “Oh heavens. Sweet Sword of Gryffindor. Where were we?”

Still smiling, Malfoy answered, “I believe we were getting ready to talk about how I was a horribly tacky, misguided child soldier, and you were an angsty, bumbling show-off in ill-fitting jumpers. And then maybe about how an overly dramatic ‘dark lord’ made both of our lives a shitshow?”

Harry’s composure promptly broke and a new round of laughter took over.

“OH MY GOD, Malfoy!” he wheezed. “You just … gleefully _went there_ , didn’t you?”

“Am I wrong?” Malfoy asked, imperiously haughty, but Harry saw a small smile peeking out, softening the familiar expression.

Encouraged, Malfoy continued, “I suppose it’s a good thing we got that out of the way quickly. Shall we do apologies next? I’m very sorry you didn’t shake my hand on the first day of school, as I would have taught you about hair potions from the get go. I could have saved us both a lot of pain.”

“Oh?” Harry asked. He couldn’t stop smiling. “Is that all, then?”

“Well, what else could there possibly be for either of us to apologize for?” Malfoy said, raising his eyebrows and clearly trying very hard to keep a serious face.

“Yeah, I guess I can’t think of anything else,” Harry said, fake-thoughtfully. His jaw was starting to hurt from grinning. “Wait. How did my hair cause _you_ pain?”

“Well, I had to look at it, didn’t I?” A faint blush arose on Malfoy’s cheeks.

Harry’s smile softened. “I was always looking at you, too,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I know we’re kidding and all, but I really am sorry. About hurting you so badly that day in Myrtle’s bathroom, and for … not recognizing what was going on with you back then. How hopeless your situation was. I should have apologised by now. And I should have helped you then, somehow.”

Malfoy’s expression had turned sober, wide-eyed and determined.

“Potter,” he started. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Then he said in a rush, “Potter, Merlin. My god. You couldn’t have helped me. We were _kids_ , Potter. The grown-ups should have helped me. The grown-ups should have kept us both from being where we were in the first place. You know that, right?”

Malfoy reached over and placed a steady hand on Harry’s knee. “Surely you’ve had loads of therapy by now? If not, I feel like I should pay for it, even.”

“Ha!” A surprised laugh escaped, despite the roiling nerves in Harry’s stomach. “I know, Malfoy. I’ve had plenty of mind-healer visits, don’t you worry. But still. I can’t help but wish I’d been able to help you.” He put his hand on top of Malfoy’s, suddenly overcome with feeling. He squeezed, hoping that gesture would say what he couldn’t put into words.

After a moment, Malfoy let go and leaned back in his chair.

“Circe,” he said softly. “Look at us. We’re just on a broom ride of _emotions_ over here. Pansy would be thrilled.”

Harry leaned back and rested his own head on the high back of his armchair. He felt exhausted and invigorated all at once. “Hermione, too,” he said with a smile. “Clearly we should talk about something stoic and, you know, _manly_ for a bit. Um…how do you like the Cannons’ new beater?”

“Tarvo Tanskanen? A bit slow, but he’s gorgeous, right?” Malfoy sat up to scoot one of the pastry plates closer to Harry. “And here you go, Potter, don’t forget to eat your tart. They’re _divine_.”

## DM

Draco was trying very diligently to look at Potter in socially appropriate amounts.

He was used to staring at Potter whilst trying not to look like he was staring at Potter. But this whole “having a conversation” thing was new. He was conversing with Potter, so he was allowed—nay, encouraged!—to look at him. Yet every time he made eye contact with the man across the table, he still felt a thrill somewhere in his gut.

Currently, they were talking about music.

“It was _so nice_ to tackle a thing I knew nothing about and then figure it out myself, with no one watching,” Potter was saying.

“My voice teacher always said that private practice helps with the confidence part,” Draco told him.

“Your _voice_ teacher?” Potter said, perking up. “You _sing_?”

“Ah,” said Draco. “Well, yes. I’d babble-sing to myself all the time as a toddler and Mother thought I had a nice voice. So she convinced Father that vocal lessons would help with my diction, for a future in politics, or something. But really she just loved to listen to me. The Blacks were a very musical family, you know.”

Potter stared at him. “I really, _really_ want to hear you sing.”

Draco fidgeted in his seat. “I…haven’t sung publicly in ages.”

“I don’t mean a fancy performance thing,” Potter flapped his hand dismissively. “Just like, a singing in the shower kind of thing.”

“Potter,” Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and he felt a blush rising. “You want to hear me sing _in the shower_?”

“Um…” Potter looked just as confused. “Er, wait, it’s an expression. Do wizards not talk about singing in the shower?”

Draco’s heart was thumping again. Unbidden came a vision of Potter completely starkers, water sluicing over his bare shoulders, mouthing the words to a song. Draco gulped.

“Why would you sing in the shower any more than any other place?”

“Merlin!” Harry said. “I am always so baffled by which phrases purebloods have never heard before. You sing in the shower because…I guess it echoes nicely? And the water’s loud, so you think nobody can hear you, but usually they can. Seriously, nobody in Slytherin sang in the shower? Seamus would belt out muggle power ballads every morning. Hair metal and the like, you know.”

“ _Hair_ metal? What sort of creature has hair made of metal?”

Potter was grinning now. “Oh, Malfoy. Sophie wasn’t wrong, you are cute.” He reached over and gave Draco’s shoulder a friendly pat, letting his hand linger for a moment. Draco felt the touch like a tingling spell.

“Sorry, Malfoy, I’m not trying to mock you. You used to be so arrogant, but now you seem more…willing to be innocent. I sort of love it. Your innocence.”

_Sweet Merlin._ Draco knew he had to be bright red by now. He scrambled to think of something sophisticated and confident to say.

“I tried really hard after the war, you know, to be less of a snob.” _What. Draco._ His inner self buried his head in his hands. His outer self soldiered on.

“At Hogwarts I thought I knew everything,” he said. “And I was always led to believe I was brilliant, and superior, and all that rot. So I never listened to anything else, really. But the older I get the more I realise how big the world is and how much I have to learn. And I want to be open. To admitting when I don’t know things, and to learning it all, I guess.”

The words felt clumsy and terrifying. Yet again, Draco had no idea where his eyes should look. He willed himself to look Potter square in his stupid green eyes.

“Well, I’m honored to be the one to teach you something new to do in the shower, then,” Potter said after a moment, looking steadily back.


	7. An Adventure to Hogwarts

## HP

Several hours and pots of tea later, Harry was astonished to realise for the second day in a row that he and Malfoy had never once struggled to find something to chat about.

They had covered the mundane, such as their stark difference of opinion on the best brand of quills. (“Ugh, Potter, you heathen, the McMillan ones are so _fluffy_. It’s nearly indecent, Bertram’s Best are _far_ more refined.”)

They had shared easy laughter time and time again. For instance, one of Harry’s muggle musician friends had been hired with his band to play at, of all things, a nudist camp, and Malfoy was appalled.

(“It’s nothing to do with modesty, Potter! It all just seems horribly _unsanitary_. One’s bare arse! Just sitting on a chair! That someone else might sit in next! Salazar, that’s disgusting. And muggles don’t even have basic repelling barrier spells — just think of all the particulates and random things that could, you know, get _all up in their bits_. Or get _left behind on the chair_. No, Potter. Just, no.”)

Harry had also nearly laughed himself to tears as Malfoy told a long, winding story about the time one of the peacocks had chased a six-year-old Malfoy up an ornamental tree in the Manor’s front garden and had continued to nip at his ankles till a house elf had come looking for young Master Malfoy and saved him.

(“Peacocks are _vicious_ , Potter. They preen and act so polished until you rile them up and then they attack in a flurry of squawks.”

“So like you, then,” Harry had said.

Malfoy had gasped in shock, leaving Harry to wonder if he had gone too far. But then Malfoy had just burst into happy, self-deprecating laughter.

“ _Touché_ , Potter,” he had said, looking somehow pleased. “You know, you’re not even the first person to tell me that. Pansy used to compare me to the peacocks every time she visited the Manor.”)

And they had surprisingly covered personal topics as well: the varying horrors of their upbringings. Some of the fears and struggles they had each had since leaving school. The ways in which the wizarding media had intruded so carelessly into both of their lives.

Harry had talked about Ginny, and coming out, and Malfoy had talked about his previous serious relationship with a portrait painter. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Malfoy’s shoulders tensed visibly as he spoke.

(“Ethan was…deceitful,” Malfoy had said, “and he hurt me deeply. It took me a long while to even realise the extent of how much.” Upon seeing Malfoy’s furrowed brow and pursed lips, Harry had felt a surge of a feeling he couldn’t quite name.)

Now Harry was feeling fidgety, because he had to go soon—he had promised Neville he’d come by before early evening and it was nearly time. But Harry felt the presence of Malfoy in the chair across from him like a physical tether. He couldn’t find it within himself to break the fragile, careful connection currently hovering between them.

“Er, Malfoy,” he began.

Malfoy raised one eyebrow in response, resting his elbow on the armrest and touching a long, elegant finger to his temple.

“So I have to go meet Neville now, but—” Harry bit his lip. “—well, I was wondering if you’d like to come along?”

Malfoy stilled. The other eyebrow rose to meet its pair, and he looked at Harry with an expression of surprise. “You’d…just bring me with you, then? To Longbottom’s?” Malfoy asked.

“Well, um, yeah,” Harry said, “unless you don’t want to? He’s told me he sees you sometimes, at the apothecary, and I know you sent him a letter too, back then, and I thought maybe it would be fine, unless you feel awkward about it, I just. Um. I mean, I’m just not…ready to be done yet.”

_The fuck, Harry_? He felt his face flushing with color.

“Not ready to be done yet,” Malfoy repeated faintly, after a pause.

Harry scratched the back of his neck.

Malfoy blinked at him.

Harry could see the thoughts whirling behind his clear grey eyes. He was beginning to be able to differentiate between Malfoy’s various blinks and hesitations — between a tactical “I’m going to let you squirm a bit” pause and a guarded “let me phrase this properly” pause and a very-nearly-smiling “I just said something hilarious and am leaving space for you to laugh” pause (Harry’s favorite so far).

This pause was a completely guileless “I wasn’t expecting that, give me a minute” one. Harry tried not to wonder why he felt such a thrill at knowing this.

“Well, alright, then,” said Malfoy.

Harry had to stop himself from dancing in his chair.

## DM

Draco stared at the entrance to Hogwarts’ grounds and had the distinct awareness that he had gone completely mad. Simply because an endearingly flustered Harry Potter had asked him to, he had willingly left a cosy tea shop and Apparated to the official Hogwarts arrival point, where he was now trudging alongside Potter to the greenhouses to meet Neville “War Hero Who Glowed Up” Longbottom and help with some apparently dangerous task.

“ _What_ exactly are we doing here, again, Potter?” he snapped. His back-at-Hogwarts nerves made his words more clipped than he intended, but Potter just laughed.

“Neville’s repotting a Venomous Tentacula and wanted me to keep an extra-strength shield charm around the murder-y bits, so he can deal with the roots.”

“‘ _Murder-y_ ’? Have you no sense of the English language, Potter? ‘Murderous,’ at a minimum, would have sufficed. It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long as an adult, the Ministry’s employee standards must really be slipping.” The words spilled out before Draco could stop them.

Potter stopped walking and looked at him. Draco paused wearily in response, ready for their old pattern of antagonism to rear its head.

But then, with twinkling eyes, Potter reached out and squeezed Draco’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be nervous, Malfoy. Neville won’t do anything to you. And I’ll keep you safe from the hungry plants, promise.”

Feeling off-footed, much as he had all afternoon, Draco just sputtered at him. _How_ did Potter keep _doing that_?

A million denials and rebuttals sprang to the tip of his tongue. He took a breath. _Be brave_.

Draco shook his head wryly. “Apologies, Potter,” he said. “Old habits, and all that.”

Potter laughed out loud and grinned, wide and sunlit. “Ha! Don’t worry, Malfoy, I know exactly what you’re going through. Being decent to each other is bloody _weird_ , isn’t it? I guess we’ll just have to keep practicing, now that we’re friends.”

Draco lived his life by research and planning. Whenever possible, he entered situations prepared and on his own terms—but today, Draco felt nearly…wandless. No _Point Me_ in the world was strong enough to get him back on comfortable ground. He was up in the air, and against all predictions, the only steady thing in the world was Harry James Potter.

He suddenly realised he was smiling back at Potter like an idiot. _Get it together, face! Quit doing things before I tell you to, Merlin’s balls._

But if he was an idiot, so was Potter. Because they were both just standing there on the path to Greenhouse Nine, grinning like a pair of mermaids watching a new ship sink to the ocean floor.

“Oh, fine, decent it is, then,” he told Potter, still smiling.

They finally reached the greenhouse and Draco tried to catch his breath. It really was quite hot out, and he could smell the distinct lake air wafting toward where they stood.

Potter rapped on the door with his knuckles and poked his head in.

“Oy! Neville!” he bellowed.

Draco startled at his side. “Good Godric, Potter, warn a wizard.”

“He always loses track of time when he’s working,” Potter explained, then hollered again, “OY! NEVILLE!”

With a rustling from the back of the building, Longbottom emerged from behind some crates. He was wearing dungarees, carrying a large spade, and wearing a helmet made of some leathery material.

Draco was disappointed in himself for finding the man attractive nonetheless.

“Oh sorry, Harry! I lost track of time!” Longbottom said, stumbling over a crate.

Potter snorted. “Told you,” he said under his breath, turning his head and leaning toward Draco’s ear. Potter’s warm breath grazed his jawline.

Draco shivered.

“Anyway, hiya Harry!” Longbottom greeted Potter, who stepped forward and accepted a big, strong-armed hug. Then he noticed Draco hovering back in the doorway.

“and…Malfoy?” Longbottom furrowed his brow and looked questioningly at Potter. The two exchanged furious words via intense silent eye contact, and then Longbottom looked back to Draco.

“Right!” he said, putting out his hand. “And Malfoy! Hi, then, Draco. It’s good to see you.”

Taken aback by the use of his first name, Draco stepped forward and shook the proffered hand. “You as well, Neville,” he said carefully.

The familiar name felt odd in his mouth, but Neville beamed at him and said again, “Right! Well, let’s get it to it!”

## HP

Harry could tell Neville was dying to ask questions, but to his friend’s credit, he cheerfully dove right into the task at hand and welcomed Malfoy easily.

“Draco, it’s already going to be a bit crowded in here, so it’s probably best if you head to Eight to hang out for a bit?” Neville gestured in the direction of Greenhouse Eight. “Unless you have that anti-venom poultice you sell at the shop on you at all times?”

Malfoy matched Neville’s broad grin. “I am generally very prepared, but I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting a Tentacula on my schedule today.” He gamely headed back toward the exit, then turned back when he reached the doorway.

“Good luck with…all this, then, gentlemen,” he said, waving his hand at the leafy, sunlit space and the oddly undulating plant deeper in. “I shall half-heartedly listen for your screams.”

Neville watched him go, then shook his head, laughing. “Oh, he’s so weird, I love it. Alright, Harry, let’s go get you a helmet.”

Approximately half an hour later, Neville and Harry lay collapsed on the greenhouse floor, covered in dirt, and laughing hysterically.

“OH MY GOD,” Harry wheezed, “I can’t believe it’s legal for you to own that thing, and AT A SCHOOL, that was so dangerous, sweet Jesus, oh my god.”

“I KNOOOW,” Neville managed, rolling on the floor with tears of laughter. He rubbed at a gash on his arm. “Shit, this hurts so bad, Merlin’s balls, I’m laughing too hard to _Episkey_ it properly.”

“ _She tossed you between her roots_ , Neville, aahhh, it was amazing, I want to remember that forever, I need a pensieve right now.”

“Um,” said a voice from the doorway. “Is…everything alright in here?”

Malfoy was looking down on them with a bemused expression. He was holding one of Neville’s botanical manuscripts and wearing blue metal-rimmed _glasses, wait, what?_

Harry gulped and sat up, trying to slow his laughs. “We’re fine, Malfoy, don’t worry.”

“ _I’m_ not fine, Harry, speak for yourself, I’m _bleeding profusely_ over here,” Neville cut in, still cackling.

Malfoy blinked, set the manuscript on a pile of crates and knelt at Neville’s side.

“Right, then.” He lifted the affected arm carefully. Harry watched Malfoy’s slender fingers efficiently assess the damage, then wave a wandless healing charm to knot the skin back together.

“Nice, mate,” said Neville with a raised eyebrow. He turned his arm in a few directions and looked over the newly healed patch. “Thanks, Draco.”

“You can do _wandless_ healing?” Harry blurted before he could think.

Malfoy’s face flushed pink. “We have lots of potions mishaps at the apothecary. It’s handy to be able to heal a splash burn, or a cut finger, you know how it is.”

Neville looked between Malfoy’s blush and Harry’s gaping face and pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “are you two hungry? Hannah made a whole cauldron-worth of dragon-keeper’s stew yesterday, it’s really good and there’s plenty to share. And Draco, I can get your thoughts on that moonflower article you were reading. I’m curious what you made of Hayashi’s thesis?”

Harry scrambled to his feet. “Oh my god, I haven’t had a Hannah meal in ages, that sounds so good.”

Malfoy was looking at Neville with a cautiously eager expression. “It’s rather remarkable, isn’t it, what she’s doing with the moonflower petals? I wouldn’t have expected the change to a silver knife blade for the cutting process to have made such a difference in potency.”

As Harry and Neville began to gather their things to head toward Neville’s quarters, Malfoy added with a twinkle, “Though, surely you two can leave the leather helmets behind? I mean, I’m enjoying the aesthetic, you both look extraordinarily bumbling, but it’s making my head hot just to look at you.”

Neville grinned as he unhooked the latch below his chin. “Oh, admit it, Malfoy, we look dashing.”

Malfoy scoffed in response, but he was blushing.


	8. The Little Garden Park

## DM

“Ugh, Potter, why did you let me eat so much,” Draco groaned.

He was sitting at Neville’s quaint kitchen table and feeling quite satisfied. The stew had been delicious, the conversation had been surprisingly interesting, and Neville had promised to bring him Noriko Hayashi’s earlier manuscript on the various uses of climbing hydrangeas next time he came by the apothecary.

The summer sun was low in the sky, and a full bouquet of various flower scents was wafting in through the open window from the greenhouses.

“Seriously,” agreed Neville, “why’d you let us eat so much, Harry?”

Potter was leaning back in his chair, hands on his stomach, and a smudge of dirt from earlier still streaked across his cheekbone.

“It was soooo good though,” he told Neville. “Tell Hannah thanks, yeah?”

Draco was jolted into manners. “Yes, please do pass along our gratitude to your wife. I haven’t had dragon-keeper’s stew in ages and her recipe was extraordinary.”

“Will do,” said Neville, proudly, stifling a yawn. “She’s so great.”

Draco met Potter’s eyes across the table, and Potter gave a small nod. “Well, we’ve got to get going,” Potter said to Neville. “Get some rest, mate, you took a beating today.” He snorted. “Oh god, I just remembered that part where she _tossed you in the air with her roots_ , I’m so glad I remembered that again.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Come on, Potter,” he said, standing up.

“Thanks for your help,” Neville said sleepily. “I’ll see you both soon, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” said Potter, and Draco could almost believe that this was normal, and that he and Potter were regularly out and about visiting friends together.

As he ambled back toward the Hogwarts gates next to Potter, Draco realised he had no idea where they were headed.

“Potter,” he said, stopping. “Where are we going?”

He felt his heartbeat quickening. _Is this where the day ends? How does this end?_

But Potter simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “I dunno. Let’s take a walk! It’s beautiful out. Want to see my favorite park at the moment?”

Draco breathed, in and out.

Reaching the Apparition point, Draco slipped his arm into Potter’s.

“Yes. I absolutely want to see your park. Side-along me?”

## HP

Harry almost borked the Side-along (because Malfoy was _touching him on purpose_ ), but soon enough they were right inside the flowering garden park near the Ministry.

Malfoy was looking around. “Wait. Are we right back by the Oak & Pom?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “Yep! And the Ministry’s right down that way. But it’s so quiet and peaceful here, isn’t it?”

Malfoy had not yet let go of Harry’s arm. Harry tried not to move.

“It’s really nice, actually,” Malfoy said, absent-mindedly letting his arm fall back to his own side. He perked up and pointed to an old-looking fountain. “Is that a Mikhail Kozlovsky piece?”

Harry had no idea what he was talking about.

It was a fountain, featuring a very muscular centaur pouring a jug of water into the mouth of a manticore. “Er,” he answered.

“It is,” said Malfoy excitedly, bending over and reading a small plaque at the base of the pool of water. “Wow, I didn’t know there were any Kozlovskys in this part of England. It’s sort of…overly golden, isn’t it?”

“Er,” said Harry again, because Malfoy was bending over.

“Okay, Potter,” Malfoy said, standing up. “I thought maybe your favorite park would be unexciting but I changed my mind, I love this park. Show me more things.”

Observing Draco Malfoy explore a space was intoxicating. Harry couldn’t stop watching Malfoy’s face as he took in each new element of the park.

Malfoy read every plaque, sometimes out loud. He touched nearly everything — poking at a funny-looking flower, patting a stone satyr on the head, and trailing his stupidly graceful fingers along the rough stucco walls along the edges. His eyebrows were in constant motion — slightly lifted as he looked around, furrowed as he tried to work out the markings on an ancient-looking sundial, and teasingly raised as he met Harry’s eyes over a small statue of a milkmaid and a mermaid enthusiastically kissing and groping each other.

(“Move along, we’re busy,” the milkmaid had told them crossly, pausing to toss her bronze hair over her shoulder before returning to mouth at the mermaid’s neck.

“I…can see that,” Malfoy had responded faintly as the mermaid abruptly ducked her head to nuzzle beneath the milkmaid’s skirt, eliciting a high-pitched giggle.)

Malfoy’s running commentary seemed never-ending, sometimes with barely-audible thoughts mumbled under his breath and sometimes wondering aloud to Harry.

“Potter, come sit on this bench,” he was saying. “There’s a superbly skillful cushioning charm on it.”

Harry approached the bench, an ornate black metal thing with slats along the seat. He sat.

“Oh, wow,” he said. It felt like he was sitting in a perfectly arranged pile of pillows. “That’s amazing. It’s like a blanket fort, but with lumbar support. My lower spine feels so happy.”

“What are you, eighty?” Malfoy said, amused.

“Sod off, Mister ‘I carry a pocket watch even though I have a mobile,’” Harry retorted with an eye-roll.

“Ah, that’s fair enough, I suppose. I just like all the little gears turning. On the mobile you can’t see how any of it works.”

Harry stared at him. “Malfoy, for most of magic you can’t _see how it works_.”

“Ugh, Potter, why,” said Draco, “must you be so annoying. Ugh. That’s one of the biggest things that keeps me up at night, you know. How does magic work?”

“Are you even being serious right now.”

“Potter, seriously! How does magic work? Like, potions and the like at least make sense. You mix a thing with a thing and get a different thing. But, like, a standard _Colloportus_ or something, what is actually _happening_ to make it work, no one has ever been able to explain this to me. Why does magic understand Latin?”

Harry let Malfoy rant for a bit. He had moved past surprise at which of Malfoy’s previously-untenable habits now just seemed endearing, and instead said, “Wow, good point,” and “Truly genius,” at all the right pauses.

“I know what you’re doing, by the way,” Malfoy said eventually. “You remind me of Mother, oddly,” he continued. “She used to carry a whole embroidery project in her pocket—extension charms, I suppose—and whenever I would start going on about something she would just pull it out and work on it, and say ‘Mmhmmm,’ every now and then, and humor me. But it never felt condescending. And she got dozens of tapestries done in the meantime. She called it ‘having opinions.’ ‘Oh, let him be, Lucius,’ she’d say, ‘he’s just having opinions.’”

“I actually was listening,” Harry told him. “I just don’t…think as fast you, I don’t think.”

He realized the huge opening he had left with those words at the same time Malfoy did. They both broke into laughter, Malfoy avoiding the obvious jab, then lapsed into a comfortable silence.

Harry let himself relax. As the sunset faded away and a single cheerful cricket started to sing, he leaned his head back and rested it, perfectly cushioned, and stared at the night sky through the trees.

## DM

Potter’s throat was long and moved with each swallow. Draco wanted to touch it.

He didn’t think he was imagining the growing electricity between the two of them. He didn’t understand how he could feel so calm and so _frantic_ at the exact same time. He felt safer than he had felt in years, and also terrified.

“This was unexpected, Potter,” Draco said after what felt like hours of companionable stillness. His voice sounded both loud and quiet in the garden night air, where the peaceful atmosphere around them was accentuated by crickets chirping and fountains trickling and the soft murmur of the mermaid across the way.

_Ah_ , he thought. _Calm and frantic_.

Potter kept his head on the back of the bench, but rolled his neck to face Draco. For a long moment, they just looked at each other.

“I know,” Potter said. “I keep thinking about how 48 hours ago you weren’t in my life at all, really, and now it feels like you’ve always been here.”

It was the kind of thing one only says at midnight in a garden, and Draco thought his heart might stop.

Potter’s eyes never left Draco’s face. Draco felt his own eyes moving—back and forth between Potter’s two piercing eyes, down to the strong nose a different Draco had once broken, around the soft curve of his bottom lip, up to the unruly hair, over to Potter’s left arm, draped across the back of the bench and very nearly touching Draco’s shoulder.

“Potter, I,” he started. He swallowed. “I wonder if you might want to come to mine for a bit?”

Potter was barely blinking.

Draco made himself continue. “Not for anything to happen, necessarily, just—to sleep, even—my bed has a cushioning charm like this on it, did you know?” _Why would Potter know that, Draco?_ “I just, I’m just…not ready to be done yet.”

His words, echoing Potter’s from earlier, hung in the hawthorn-scented air.

Potter moved his arm from the back of the bench and reached to hold Draco’s right hand in his left. He moved his thumb across the palm, back and forth.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s.”


	9. The Cushioning Charm

## HP

Harry was no stranger to pulling, and he was familiar with the awkward break between deciding to go home with someone and actually getting there. The logistics of directions, the uncomfortable standing in an unfamiliar flat until you’re told where to go, the weird stilted conversations that sometimes happened before hands got back on bodies and mouths back on mouths.

The thing here was that Harry wasn’t sure if _this_ was _that_. This wasn’t a frantic decision based solely on physical chemistry, or a purposeful meeting of eyes across a gala dance floor. This was _Malfoy_. An endearingly tentative Malfoy, who seemed to be just as uncertain as Harry was about what _this_ was.

Harry gave Malfoy’s hand in his a squeeze. Malfoy bit his bottom lip through a small smile, and Harry’s felt his heart give a pang of affection. _How the fuck did that happen?_ he wondered.

Malfoy’s eyelashes, blond and delicate, were like the brush of moth wings in the moonlight. 

“I can side-along you, unless you’d feel more comfortable with coordinates?” Malfoy said softly.

Harry sat up straighter. “No, side-along makes sense, I trust you,” he said, affecting nonchalance, as if nothing about this whole interchange was blowing his damn mind.

Malfoy stood up without letting go of Harry’s hand and used his strength to pull Harry up from the bench. In spite of the charged atmosphere, Harry felt a laugh burst out.

“Circe,” he said, “that’s like trying to get up from a deep sofa, that cushioning is almost too eager to keep you nuzzled in there.”

Malfoy grinned back and stepped closer to Harry. “Thank Godric I was here to rescue you. Here, best grab my other hand, too, now hold on tight.”

## DM

With the familiar pull at his naval, Draco arrived with Potter in his flat. He had brought them to the front room, not wanting to presume anything. Letting go of Potter’s hands, he reached for his wand and turned on a small lamp in the corner. In the low light, Potter’s strong jaw and legendary profile seemed almost soft. Approachable.

Truth be told, Draco was completely out of his element. He had never been one for one-night-stands, and ever since Ethan, he had felt a bit too fragile for casual encounters.

He assumed that Potter had a lot more experience than him, if _Witch Weekly_ was even ten percent correct in its reporting. Draco let his hands fall to his sides and, in lieu of confidence, tried to channel his pureblood hospitality.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “A drink, or some water? Or perhaps you need to use the restroom?”

Potter’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “The restroom sounds great, actually, before you let me try your amazingly cushioned bed,” he said.

“Right!” said Draco. “This way.”

He turned and marched awkwardly down the hallway, making sure Potter was following. When he reached the doors he said, “This one on the left is the restroom, and I’ll just be across the hall, then, in my…room, then.”

“Great!” Potter said, and moved toward the left, shutting the door behind him.

Draco stood there for a moment, blinking at the restroom door. “Right!” he said to himself, and turned toward his bedroom.

He took a moment to wonder if he should change into pajamas. Were they really just going to sleep? He looked down at his trousers and boots and decided that, no matter what, they didn’t make sense, so he carefully toed out of his boots and set them near the wardrobe. Then he slipped out of his trousers and jumper, quickly finding a t-shirt to pull on.

Would Potter be weirded out if he just wore his pants? _It’s Potter, I doubt he’ll even notice what you’re wearing._

Draco stood, fidgeting, by the bed for a moment, opening and closing his hands. He had no idea what was going on.

“…Your mirror told me she liked my teeth?” said a voice from the doorway.

Draco turned around abruptly. Potter was standing there, holding his jeans and sneakers in his hand, wearing just his rock-star black t-shirt and some boxers with…was that gnomes on them? Yes, gnomes.

“Your teeth?” he said. “That’s a new one.”

They both stood there for a moment, Draco by the bed and Potter by the door, looking at each other. Potter reached his free hand up and scrubbed the back of his head.

“I’ll just leave these here, then,” he said, placing his shoes and jeans in a haphazard stack inside the door.

“Oh! Yes, that’s fine.”

Another moment.

“So!” said Potter, rolling up and down the balls of his feet. “Show me this cushioning charm, then?”

Draco actually _was_ particularly fond of his bed. It was amazing. When he had first got it, as part of his quest to rid his life of things that reminded him of Ethan, he had made every friend who came by try it out. Pansy had declared it was “better than sex,” Blaise had said, “huh,” and then run a diagnostic charm to learn more about the cushioning, and Greg had promptly taken a nap.

“Potter, it’s amazing,” Draco said. “What side do you want? Wait, no, sorry, I can really only sleep on this side, so I hope you’re fine with the right. Okay, first, you have to lay still on your back for a minute so it can calibrate, that part’s important.”

He pulled down the sheet and soft comforter and climbed in on the left side, then patted his right hand on the other spot.

“Here, Potter, get in.”

With a _no, not cute_ shoulder wiggle, Potter determinedly marched to his side of the bed and climbed under the covers. He lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling.

“How do I know if I’m doing it right?” he said, before a shiver of pale purple light particles rose around them and then settled slowly on their forms.

“Oh!” said Potter. “Oh god that feels weird. But amazing?”

“It’s got you calibrated, now, so even if you roll over or move around, the cushioning charms will adjust to your bone structure,” Draco told him.

“It’s like I’m in a womb,” Potter said, turning his head to look wide-eyed at Draco. “Or, like, entombed in a vat of chocolate mousse.”

“I _told_ you it was amazing, Potter,” Draco said. His heart was pounding, calm and frantic.

## HP

Harry put his arms behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. It was white, but it had an ornate monochromatic pattern of raised bits, like tiles in a mosque.

A few moments passed. He looked to his left. Malfoy was also still on his back, lying a bit stiffly. Harry watched Malfoy’s Adam’s apple move with each swallow.

Harry rolled on his side to face him. “Er, Malfoy?” he whispered. The cushioning charms shifted to welcome his new position.

Almost immediately, Malfoy turned to face Harry too. His hand was tucked under his face, smooshing his cheek a bit. It was very unflattering, and Harry loved it.

“Yes?” Malfoy whispered back.

Harry looked at the way the moonlight coming in the window settled on Malfoy’s shoulder. The thin t-shirt Malfoy had put on—to wear with _only his pants, holy mother of Merlin_ —revealed the shape of a slender, lithe body beneath.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” Harry asked. Their whispers were the only sound in the flat. The night was still and solemn. Harry could hear his blood rushing through his skull by his ears.

Malfoy closed his eyes for a moment, and Harry wasn’t sure if that was his answer. They had had a very full day, after all. But then Malfoy opened his eyes and looked at Harry with resolve.

“No,” he whispered.

Harry’s hands were moving before he could stop them. One moved to that shoulder, needing to feel the muscle beneath his fingers. The other reached for Malfoy’s face, finally touching that soft cheek below the supermodel cheekbone.

Malfoy gulped, then scooted his body closer and turned his face to meet Harry’s. Their noses brushed, and Harry could hardly breathe, and then Harry wasn’t sure who made it happen, but their lips were touching and Malfoy’s chest was rising and Harry was lost in the knowledge that this person had somehow become essential.

## DM

Draco hadn’t even kissed anyone since Ethan. _Ugh, don’t think about Ethan now, what the hell._ But Potter, of all people, felt safe—like he would not intentionally cause Draco pain, and wasn’t that just the biggest irony ever.

Once begun, the swell of hands and mouths and breaths and murmurings felt unstoppable. At one pause, when Draco stopped to take a deep breath and adjust Potter’s knee from digging into his hip, he felt the distinct pressure of the bed’s cushioning charms arranging him more neatly below Potter.

Potter’s single, startled laugh echoed Draco’s sentiment. “I think your bed _wants_ us to be doing this,” Potter whispered, “how kinky,” and Draco had to stop himself from literally giggling.

For his part, Potter had a wide grin and an expression of pure happiness, the kind Draco remembered from Quidditch matches and watching Potter across the Great Hall.

“Now that it’s been mentioned, you _do_ have wonderful teeth,” Draco said, and the happy laugh he got in response nearly set him on fire.

He grabbed Potter’s waist and pulled their bodies closer together, pushing his hips up, feeling a hardness there to match his own. Moving his hand higher to Potter’s strong lower back, Draco took a deep breath in and let the scent of the spot where Potter’s neck met his shoulder wash over him.

“Off,” he said frantically, tugging at the hem of Potter’s t-shirt.

Potter met Draco’s eyes, then lifted his torso to whip his shirt off in one fluid motion before returning to place a soft kiss at the corner of Draco’s mouth.

“Your turn,” he said, turning to his side to give Draco room to move. His hand reached to graze over the bulge in Draco’s pants. “All of it.”

With a shiver, Draco shimmied out of his clothes and let himself be tended to.


	10. A Morning & A Message

## DM

Draco awoke with a weird taste in his mouth. He furrowed his brow as he slowly regained his awareness, and then all of yesterday came rushing back.

He opened his eyes and turned to his right. Potter was curled up next to him, face lit by the white light of his mobile screen.

Potter noticed Draco’s movements and looked up.

“Oh! Good morning!” Potter said. “I was just texting Molly, she was hoping I could help de-gnome today before Sunday lunch at the Burrow because no one else is free, but honestly I sort of want to just lie in this extraordinary bed all morning.” He rolled over and wrapped his arm across Draco’s chest, nuzzling his head into Draco’s shoulder.

Draco blinked. “Um,” he said, struggling to keep up. He felt wrong-footed, and he didn’t know why.

“You should go help Mrs. Weasley,” Draco said, “if she needs you.”

Potter sighed. “Yeah, maybe.” He sat up and climbed out of the bed, stretching his arms over his head, then rubbed at his hair and looked back at Draco.

“I wish I could stay, though,” he said.

Draco, who had prepared for many scenarios both splendid and horrible, had somehow never prepared himself for “waking up next to Harry Potter.” His mind was racing. He gave Potter half of a smile and tried to force his brain to process.

Across the room, Potter pulled on his jeans and fastened the button, then wiggled his feet into his shoes.

“I guess I’ve got to run home and shower first, and grab some clothes, then,” Potter said, regretfully. He looked at Draco and bit his lip, then marched determinedly across the room and planted a firm kiss on Draco’s surprised mouth.

Potter pulled back just an inch. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he said, breath mingling with Draco’s.

Draco made a sound like a “Hmm.”

Potter walked backward, keeping his eyes on Draco. When he reached the door, he said again, “Yeah, see you,” grinned, and turned to make his own way out of Draco’s flat.

## HP

Harry was buzzing. He felt like a switch somewhere had been turned on, or like he had just gotten new glasses and everything looked just a little bit more high-def.

He had gone home and showered (thinking about Malfoy’s hands), and gotten dressed (thinking about Malfoy’s eyelashes), and then headed to the Burrow (thinking about Malfoy laughing, so differently than his laugh used to sound).

He had de-gnomed the garden—which was a bitch of task, honestly. It was only his deep abiding loyalty to Molly Weasley that kept him going. That, and thinking about Malfoy.

By lunch time, Harry was starving. Nearly all of the usual Sunday lunch guests were busy this week. Ginny had a match in Bulgaria, Charlie was busy with hatching season, and Ron and Hermione were in Australia. Harry ended up seated next to Percy, who had come straight from a ministry meeting and was chattering away about it.

“You wouldn’t believe the initiatives Bilby is trying to pass through Creatures without even a hearing,” Percy was telling Molly.

Harry had tuned out the conversation and was happily digging into his Beef Wellington (thinking about Malfoy’s shoulders in the moonlight) when he realized Arthur was trying to get his attention.

“How have you been, Harry?” Arthur said, spearing a green bean on his fork.

Harry’s, “Alright!” came before he had really thought about it, so he tried again. “I’m really well,” he said. “You know, just working, and doing things. But it’s all good.”

There was no way he could possibly explain to Arthur what exactly he’d been up to. Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure himself.

Arthur beamed at him and Harry was reminded again how grateful he was for Arthur’s fatherly affection.

“I’m _so_ glad to hear that, Harry,” Arthur said, chewing thoughtfully. “You certainly do seem in good spirits this afternoon. You know, I was hoping to show you something after lunch, it’s something called a ‘head-phone splitter.’ Fascinating! Will you be sticking around for a spell?”

Arthur leaned forward excitedly. Harry smiled back and resigned himself to a slow but pleasant afternoon with Arthur’s cabinet of curiosities.

“Absolutely, Arthur, I’d love to take a look.”

## DM

Draco was having a crisis. But he couldn’t figure out what, exactly, the crisis _was_.

He was feeling anxious, and restless, and like he was really hungry but all food sounded sort of gross. He sat in his chair in his front room and looked out the window a bit, pointing his toes and then flexing his feet, over and over.

He whiled away some time doing some cleaning charms on his flat’s kitchen cabinets. Then, he ate lunch (another uninspired sandwich) and caught up on the last few days worth of _The Prophet_. By mid-afternoon he gave in and lay on his back on the couch, setting his mobile to hover over his face via a time-extended _Wingardium leviosa_. Streaming “Murder She Wrote” one episode after another distracted him somewhat satisfactorily for a bit.

Finally, _thank Merlin_ , it was time to head over for dinner at Sophie and Ravi’s. Draco stood up, grabbed his wand from the side table, and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from the ornate heirloom bowl on the mantle. “That’s So Ravi!” he said loudly, and held his breath as he was whisked away.

He stumbled into the cozy little house that Ravi and Sophie called home. It was technically Ravi’s, since Sophie still had a room at her parent’s flat, but she was here all the time and they split all the bills.

The three of them had spent entirely too long one evening deciding on what Sophie and Ravi should tell the Floo Network Office to register their Floo. They’d been brainstorming celebrity couple names, and someone had suggested “SoRavi.” Ravi had promptly cracked up, muttering some joke to himself about his little sister and ravens on the telly, and emphatically declared the conversation was over, he knew what he wanted.

As soon as Draco emerged from the fireplace, he heard Ravi holler from the kitchen, “Aaaaah Sophie! He’s _here_!”

Sophie’s footsteps clattered down the staircase loudly, and then Draco’s two friends emerged from different doorways to greet him enthusiastically.

“Villain!” Sophie exclaimed. “Tell us _everything_. How was your _date_ with _Harry James Potter_ , Slayer of Dark Lords and Utterly Delectable Rock Star??”

Draco felt his face heat. He looked over to Ravi, who had both hands clutched against his chest in excitement.

“What makes you think it was a date?” Draco asked stubbornly.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh right, it was just a totally platonic hangout between two men who _couldn’t stop getting caught in each other’s eyes all night_.”

Ravi’s laugh was very nearly a giggle. “Oh my God, Draco, you should have seen the way he watched you walk all the way to the loo, his eyes were on your arse for like a full minute.”

“But it wasn’t just your scrumptious arse,” Sophie said, “he kept sneaking glances at your face and smiling this little private smile, too, it was adorable, he was _soooo_ into you, it was like watching a Hallmark movie.”

Ravi was grinning, too. “Draco, you have no idea, I had a horrible migraine that whole last hour of the night, but I resolved that we had to stay until you two made plans, because it was so obvious that you needed to spend more time with each other. I _sacrificed_ for you, Draco, please tell me it was worth it.”

Draco was sure he looked like a tomato by now. _Damn the Malfoy complexion_.

He bounced awkwardly on the balls of his feet. Then he put his hands on the side of his face and scrunched his nose. “Aaaaah, you guys, uggggggh, I have no idea.”

Sobering slightly, Sophie came closer and put her hand on Draco’s arm. Looking up at him earnestly, she said, “Oh! Draco, what happened? Is everything okay?”

Draco looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then back down at Sophie, and then it all came rushing out.

“Ugh, I don’t know, I mean, yes, I’m okay. We hung out, like, _all day_ , and just kept hanging out, and talked about all sorts of things, and he kept saying things like ‘ _I was always watching you too_ ,’ and ‘ _sing in the shower for me_ ,’ and ‘ _oh, you_ are _cute_ ,’ and then he slept in my bed and we sort of hooked up, but not, like, a _fully_ consummated hookup, but still pretty intense, and then in the morning he said he wished he didn’t have to go, and I think he likes me and I didn’t mean to do that and now I don’t know what to _do_.”

For once, Sophie was speechless. Ravi blinked for a moment, then put his hand on Draco’s other arm.

“Oh, buddy,” he said. “Let’s go sit down, and eat this amazing tikka masala I made us, and Sophie and I will therapy the fuck out of everything you just said.”

## HP

By late afternoon Harry had finally left the Burrow and was heading back to Grimmauld Place. As he walked in the door he wondered what Malfoy was doing right now. If he thought about it, he was pretty sure Ravi had said something about dinner tonight?

Harry shut the door behind him and then turned around and leaned his back against the heavy oak door. He pulled out his mobile, and opened up his newest contact. He and Malfoy had exchanged numbers back on Friday at the Rusty Portkey, and Harry had had a minor crisis of what to name Malfoy in his phone. “Malfoy” had felt too impersonal, even though that’s all he had ever called him, but “Draco” made Harry’s stomach flutter. In the end, Harry had settled on “D.M.”

Harry stared at Malfoy’s little contact photo for a few minutes. The tiny avatar kept running his fingers through his hair and looking pensively off to the side, like a fashion photographer’s dream.

Finally, Harry opened up the message history under “D.M.” and typed

> > I can’t stop thinking about you.

Harry hit send, then smiled, held the phone to his chest for a moment, and marched into his house. He felt an itch to make things. He wanted to make an extravagant “Fuck you, Petunia” home-cooked meal. He wanted to paint the study. He wanted to write a song.

He headed toward the kitchen to start with dinner.

## DM

It was a very familiar feeling to spill his guts to his friends. Draco sometimes felt like he owed the world several solid year’s worth of just listening. For much of Hogwarts’ early years he had chattered incessantly to whomever was around about school and quidditch (and Potter). More recently, he had relied on Pansy and Blaise and Greg, and later Sophie and Ravi, to get him through the heartbreak of a long-term relationship ending painfully. His friends had patiently helped him through each step of it—the horrible final year together, the discovery of Ethan’s secret owls to other lovers, moving Draco out of the shared flat, the continued realisation that Ethan had been lying about so many things for so many years. Draco felt like he could never repay his dearest friends for all of their support.

After a long, winding story where Draco gave Sophie and Ravi a (nearly) step-by-step reply of his and Potter’s time together, he set down the fork he had been waving around in the air and sighed. Here he was, again, droning on about himself.

Sophie knew exactly what he was thinking. “Oh, Draco,” she said, “it’s okay. We really don’t mind. We _want_ to listen.”

“I know,” Draco said.

Sophie’s eyes twinkled. “And seriously, do you realize how juicy this intel is?”

Draco laughed and started to feel more like himself. “No one would believe you if you tried to tell,” he told her.

“So,” said Ravi, “let’s dig into this. Do you like him?”

“Ugh,” Draco said. “I don’t know? I mean, yes, it was really nice to hang out with him, and he’s obviously gorgeous, but, like…we don’t make any sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ravi, seriously, we don’t make any sense. Like it’s not that he’s out of my league, I’m amazing—”

Sophie giggled.

“—but we’re not even playing the same _sport_. He’s playing Quidditch, and I’m…knitting, or something. We live completely different kinds of lives and have entirely different worlds to inhabit. Potter doesn’t end up with _me_.”

“Okay, from the outside,” Sophie pointed out, “you are totally worthy of Potter. You are _so neat_ , Draco, and so smart and good and you have grown so fucking much. If any of this is ‘I’m not worthy,’ that’s bullshit, love.”

Draco tried to think it all through. “I don’t think it’s that,” he said, “Maybe it’s that if he actually _likes_ me, he must not have very good taste?”

“Well, that’s just the same bullshit from the other side,” Ravi said.

“Okay, well, look at this text he sent me,” Draco said.

Ravi and Sophie scooted closer so that the three of them could hover over the message.

> > I can’t stop thinking about you.

“Oh, wow,” said Ravi. “He’s, like, all in.”

“I know!” said Draco. “How is he so sure of anything? I’m not sure of anything! Ever! I have already formulated eighty ways this ends in fire!”

“Well, Potter has saved you from fire before, just make sure there’s a broom nearby,” Sophie said, trying not to smile.

“Ugggggh Sophie, _not_ helping.”

“Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry.

“Well, it sounds like you just need time,” Ravi said reasonably. “You’re overwhelmed because he doesn’t seem to need any time to make sweeping declarations, so you doubt the longevity of his enthusiasm, and you worry that if you let yourself like him in that way, he might change his mind on a whim, and you’ll be broken again, like with Ethan. Plus, we all know Harry Potter goes gung-ho into things without thinking all the time, but often there are explosions, and you feel too practical and world-weary for explosions at this time. Yes?”

Draco was a bit startled. “Yes?” he answered. “Maybe?”

Ravi looked satisfied. “So, the answer is: wait a bit, and then see how you feel.”

“Yeah, but we have this text to reply to,” Sophie interjected.

Draco felt a rush of gratitude at Sophie’s use of “we.”

“Oh, right,” said Ravi. “Let’s see. What’s our thesis? We don’t want to seem overly into it, because we don’t know where Draco will end up emotionally, but we don’t want to nix it all, for the same reason.”

“Yeah, we just need to say something true,” said Sophie. “I think we need, like, a ‘I had fun hanging out’ sort of thing. ‘Mate?’ ‘I had fun hanging out, mate?’ No, that’s too brusque. Maybe, ‘It was very good to see you, Potter,’ that’s what you call him, right?”

Draco gave a nod.

Ravi thought for a moment. “No ‘Potter.’ ‘It was so good to see you,’ and then, ‘Hope you’re well,’ and send it tomorrow.”

Sophie pondered this, then turned to Draco. “What do you think? Does any part of that reply stress you out?”

Draco snorted. “Every single aspect of this stresses me out, Satterwaite.” He sighed. “I guess it works good as anything, though.”

Sophie leaned her head on Draco’s shoulder. “You’re allowed to feel it all, you know,” she said. “I hope you don’t think we’re trying to push you in any direction. If you don’t want to be with Harry like that, you don’t have to feel like you should, just because he’s Harry Potter. It’s all okay.”

Draco took a deep breath, in and out. He rested his head on top of Sophie’s.

“Thanks, you two,” he said.


	11. The Week Goes On

## HP

Harry woke up feeling great. He’d written nearly all of a brand new song last night, and he was still feeling a glow from his time with Malfoy.

At the remembrance of Malfoy, Harry furrowed his brow and pulled out his mobile from the bedside table.

No new messages. _Huh_.

He didn’t know what Malfoy was like in correspondence. Was he one of those people who never checked their messages? He had seen Malfoy check his mobile several times while they were together, though. Maybe he had just been enjoying his time with his friends last night.

Harry tried not to think too much about it.

## DM

As Monday morning broke, Draco was due at work bright and early. He generally loved his job at A.B. Plunkett’s Apothecary, but Monday mornings were always a challenge.

He showered, grabbed his work robes, smoothed his hair quickly, and aimed his cleaning charms at his teeth before running out the bathroom door.

“Have a lovely day, my pet!” the mirror called after him.

The morning moved quickly, with Sophie and Draco catching up on the orders that had come in over the weekend. Draco had a particularly tricky Invigoration Draught to brew as Sophie counted out parcels of Alihotsy leaves. They worked in comfortable and diligent silence next to each other, hoping to get lots of work completed before the lunch rush.

“Did you text him yet?” Sophie said mid-morning. There was no need to clarify who _he_ was.

Draco ran his hand through his hair. “No, not yet,” he said.

“Just do it, you’ll feel better.”

“I suppose.” Draco pulled out his mobile and opened the text from Potter. He looked at it a moment, watching Potter’s happy little avatar grin and laugh with crinkled eyes.

He typed:

> > It was so nice to see you. Hope you’re well.

He sent it before he could second guess himself, then tensed his shoulders and did a little shake. _Why did he feel so jumbled?_

“Any clearer this morning?” Sophie asked him softly.

Draco sighed. “Nope.”

The bell over the front door jangled and Sophie hopped up to see who it was.

“Oh, great, it’s Beresford,” she said with a groan. “I swear to you, if he stares at my chest the whole time again there _will_ be hexes.”

“Do you want me to handle him?” Draco asked.

“No, you’ve got to watch that Draught. I’ve got it. I’ve been practicing my creative jinxes.” With a determined look, she headed to the front to handle their customer.

Draco looked back at his mobile. He watched Potter grin and laugh, grin and laugh, grin and laugh.

## HP

Harry was in the middle of a boring meeting with the DMLE, who wanted him to star in an upcoming poster campaign about the dangers of unregulated Portkeys, when he heard a Hooo! from his pocket. He scrambled to find his mobile and pulled it out, heart leaping when he saw a new message from D.M.

> > It was so nice to see you. Hope you’re well.

Harry looked at it for a long moment. Half of him was relieved that Malfoy had responded, and in generally positive terms. The other half of him felt uncertain at the rather…subdued? response.

Had Harry been too forward? He wasn’t the type to be cavalier with his feelings, and he never gave false declarations of affection. He was careful never to lead anyone on, and he tried to be honest and fair with everyone he’d been with. When past partners had seemed to grow a little too attached, he’d always tried to let them down quickly and kindly before anything got too serious.

But Malfoy had made Harry want to throw all of his own rules out the window. Everything felt different with Malfoy. Harry had always seen things like love as terrifying and out of his comfort zone, but Malfoy had made him feel like maybe it didn’t need to be so scary. It wasn’t anything like love yet, but it was _something_. Wasn’t it?

Harry slid his mobile back in his pocket and tried to focus on Dawlish’s droning monologue. Maybe Malfoy was just awkward in texts. He knew people like that.

Or maybe Malfoy just didn’t feel anything. Maybe Malfoy enjoyed the company of whomever he was with, and then when they were out of sight, he forgot about them.

But then Harry remembered Malfoy, so tentative and shy as he asked Harry to come back to his place. Harry’s heart beat faster. He didn’t think Malfoy was callous. Not anymore.

He heard Hermione in his head. “ _Harry_ , you always move so fast. Some things need time.”

Hermione would be back on Wednesday, and Harry was realising he desperately needed to talk to her. Hermione could figure it all out.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to set this topic down for now.

“Did anyone stop to consider,” he addressed the chattering room, “that putting _me_ on a poster about unregulated portkeys will immediately remind everyone about the time the TriWizard trophy took me to witness the rebirth of Voldemort? And got Cedric Diggory killed? Is that really the vibe you’re going for here, on your humorous poster campaign?”

A sudden silence feel over the conference room, followed soon after by everyone talking at once in agitated voices. Dawlish began taking the PR wizard to task about wasting everyone’s time, a secretary was attempting to quiet everyone down by hollering “Gentlemen! Ladies! _Please_ ,” and a horrified Auror was trying her best to apologize profusely to Harry from three seats down.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair. _Malfoy’s shoulders in the moonlight_ , he thought to himself. _Malfoy’s blue wire glasses. Malfoy’s kind words to Pipsy. Malfoy looking at the sky_.

## DM

Tuesday came and went. On Wednesday afternoon, while Draco was in the middle of some Skele-Gro prep, a text came from Potter:

> > Hope you’re having a good day!

Draco took a breath and set his phone down. He rubbed his eyes. He picked his phone back up, bit his lip, and looked at the tiny Harry, eyes crinkling up at him, grinning and laughing.

## HP

It was finally Wednesday evening, and that meant Harry got to see Hermione, _thank fuck_.

He stepped into the Floo, said as clearly as he could, “The Athenaeum!” and tumbled out into the Granger-Weasley’s spacious library.

Harry loved Ron & Hermione’s house. Low bookcases flanked the three opposite walls, and glass windows above them all showed tall trees on all sides. Hermione had rigged the bookcases on a rolling expansion charm, so that nine shelves of books could give the appearance of three.

Rose and Hugo were at summer camp, so the house felt quieter than usual. Harry made his way through the library to the large kitchen, where Ron and Hermione were both sitting at the table talking quietly.

When she saw Harry, Hermione jumped up and came over to him. “Oh, Harry! I didn’t hear you come in!”

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said into her hair.

She pulled back and looked at him with a frown. “What happened? Did something happen? Is everything alright?”

“‘Mione, he’s only said two words, Christ,” said Ron. “Hiya, Harry!”

“They were a very _suspect_ two words, Ron. Couldn’t you tell the difference in his tone of voice?”

Harry laughed. “Hey, mate. I’m fine, ‘Mione, honest, we don’t have to talk about me right away. You just got back from _Australia_ , tell me all about it.”

Hermione squinted up at him. “But we do have to talk about you, then, just not ‘right away’?”

She said this last bit with literal finger quotes. Harry caved under her sharp gaze. “Er, yeah? I think?”

She nodded firmly. “Okay. Here’s the plan. First we will tell you all about Australia, and the absolutely amazing research library I got to visit—they had original Oodgeroo Noonuccal manuscripts, she’s so fascinating—and then we are going to figure you out. Yes?”

Harry grinned, pulled out a chair, and sank into it happily. “ _Yes_.”

Several hours and some takeaway curry later, Harry had laughed until he cried at Ron’s story of being nearly kick-punched by a kangaroo, and he had learned more about Aboriginal poetry and earth magic than he knew was possible. He had relaxed for the first time in days and was basking in the warmth of his friends.

Hermione stood by the teapot and turned back to look at Harry. “I haven’t forgotten, you know,” she said. “You’re up next.”

Harry sat up straighter. “Okay, but first you both have to promise not to, I don’t know, hex me.”

“Mate,” said Ron, “If neither of us has been driven to harm you bodily by now in our decades of hijinks, I don’t think it’ll happen today, on some random Wednesday, who do you think we are, Merlin, I jumped into a frozen lake for you, don’t make me regret it.”

Hermione came back to the table with the teapot and three mugs. “I’m ready,” she said, “and Ron and I both promise to behave.”

Harry picked up a small yellow mug that said “Snitches get Witches” and took a sip of tea. Then he dropped his shoulders and let out a long exhale. “Ugh. Fine. Okay. So, I think I sort of maybe want to date Draco Malfoy, but he maybe might be ghosting me.”

After a sputter and a dropped spoon from Ron, Hermione cleared her throat.

“Okay!” she said brightly. “Well, first, I have questions!”

Harry filled them in on the basics and did his best to answer all of Hermione’s questions, such as “Did he seem emotionally withdrawn at any point on Saturday?” (No?) and “What did his message say again?” (Harry knew it by heart at this point) and “Would you say your interest in Draco is merely sexual, or also romantic?” (at which point Harry nearly choked on his tea, turning bright red, at which point Hermione said, “ _Oh_.”)

He waited for Hermione’s diagnosis to solve everything.

“Well, I don’t have any answers for you,” she said.

Harry flopped his head back on his chair. It hit the wooden rung with a clunk.

“Ow,” he said, forlorn. “No answers at all?”

Hermione reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “It sounds like I’m not the one you really need answers from, Harry. You need to talk to Draco.”

“Since when do you call him Draco?” Harry asked.

“Mate, you’ve had his dick in your mouth, why don’t you call him Draco?” Ron responded with exasperation.

Harry felt his face burning.

Hermione looked at them both thoughtfully. “Ron, that’s actually a fascinating question.”

Ron looked up at her, pleased and proud.

Hermione continued, “If I had to guess, it’s that calling him Draco would make Harry admit that he’s seeing through to the real person underneath the legend of ‘Malfoy’ that Harry’s built up in his head for so long. To admit that there are deeper feelings and a hope for a continued friendship, at least. Does that sound right, Harry?”

Harry blinked back at her, then pushed his glasses back up. He sighed. “I don’t want to be the only one to fall,” he said quietly.

Hermione put a hand over her heart. “Oh, _Harry_ ,” she said.

Ron looked back at the messages on Harry’s mobile. “It seems to me, mate, that the quaffle’s in his hands on this one. Malfoy’s got to reach out next. Otherwise you’re giving too much of you away. If he doesn’t want you, he bloody hell doesn’t deserve you, I’m not going to let the ferret hurt you, _no way_.”

Ron seemed a bit taken aback by his own vehement affection and slumped back in his chair. Harry smiled wryly and gave him a manly shoulder punch.

“Oh, _Ron_ ,” Hermione said, eyes shining.


	12. A Plan Is Made

## DM

By Thursday, Draco had probably stared at Potter’s little avatar a thousand times. It was stupid, because if he wanted to look at Potter, there were loads of better, bigger pictures. Hell, there were two just in today’s _Prophet_.

But Draco had convinced himself (badly) that looking at Potter’s avatar was just checking his messages, while seeking out more Potter content on purpose was…something else. He didn’t know what.

He had slogged through the work week in a disgruntled haze of sorts. With the Hogwarts professors gearing up for the school year in a few weeks, upper level students needing materials for class, and an outbreak of luminescent scabies at St. Mungo’s (blech), Draco hadn’t even had much time to talk to Sophie.

So, by Thursday night, Draco was tired. Tired of working, and tired of acting like he wasn’t thinking about Harry Potter every damn second of every day.

His stomach still roiled every time he thought about Potter and their time together. It had seemed so _easy_ when they were together, but when they were apart it felt impossible. Like it had never even happened. Like that whole day had just been one of those astronomical flukes where certain planets line up a certain way and make the resulting starlight shine down extra magic on the various scattered stone henges, once every three thousand years.

Draco read the messages again.

> > I can’t stop thinking about you.

And, three days later,

> > Hope you’re having a good day!

_Merlin. My god_.

Draco navigated the browser to HooTube. (The number of owl-related puns in wizard tech was truly abysmal.)

Taking a deep breath, he started typing in the search bar. He got as far as “Ha” when the search suggested the channel of one _Harry James Potter, musician_.

Draco had known Potter posted videos from time to time, but he had never looked them up before. Not surprisingly, the channel was wildly popular. Without trying to, Potter got thousands of views for each new clip within a matter of days.

The newest video had been posted on Sunday night. “Brand New Song in Progress!” the title said.

Draco clicked Play and heard Potter's voice echo through his flat. “Hi everyone, here’s a brand new song I’m working on. I’ve been feeling inspired lately! I might call it ‘Essential’? Who knows. Anyway…here it is so far!”

Potter started finger picking a gentle riff, then looked right at the camera and began to sing.

> _Sitting on this bench beside you, I can’t help but realise_  
>  _That you, and this, are somehow now essential_  
>  _And as the lights lift around us and settle on our forms_  
>  _I can hardly breathe—I’m not scared of love anymore_

Draco hit the Pause button in alarm and stared at the screen. His heart was pounding. This was a song. About him. That had the word “love” in it. Harry Fucking Potter had written him a love song.

He gathered his courage and hit Play again. Potter kept singing and Draco thought he might break into hysterical laughter. Maybe Potter wasn’t scared anymore, but Draco was terrified.

When the song finished, Draco looked down at the comments.

> **pottergrl81** : omg who is this about??????? omgggggg omaga
> 
> **Johnlock4eva** : uggggh whoever just won Harry’s heart is luckiest person in the whole fucking galaxy
> 
> **Firewh1skey** : Yeah, this needs a lot of work… some of these metaphors don’t even make sense? Your earlier work was so much more raw and original, this more recent stuffs way too cliche and sort of forced… I could realy improve your songwriting, DM me if you’d like a real lyricist involved… thx.
> 
> **marrymeharry** : noooooo harry, don’t fall in love with someone else, marry meeeeeeeeee <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> **rainboybrite** : THIS, ALL THIS, ALL OF THIS FOREVER, ~YOU ARE NOW ESSENTIAL~ OMG MB I’M DED 

“Um,” Draco said aloud. “Huh.”

Resolving not to read anymore comments, he clicked to the next song.

Seven videos later, Draco was staring in growing horror at his phone. His heart was pounding. With each video he saw more of the soul of Harry Potter. The person he had spent a day with, who didn’t know how to do anything but tell the truth.

Draco was such an idiot. _For the love of Circe, get your shit together._

He swiped over to his messages and typed one out for Sophie:

> Hi. I think I’m dumb and I actually really, really like him.

Then, he swiped over to where Potter was looking at him, grinning. _Deep breaths, Draco. Be brave._

## HP

Harry was in Diagon Alley looking for a present for Teddy to take to Hogwarts this year. He had chatted with George, but ultimately decided that a Wheezes product was not the responsible thing to send with his godson. He was on his way across the street to hopefully catch Flourish & Blotts before they closed for the night when he heard a _Hooo!_ from his pocket.

He willed himself not to get excited. It was probably Ginny ragging on him for the (utterly unflattering) photo of him in today’s society pages of _The Prophet_ , in which he was tripping over a box on the sidewalk and consequently smacking into a light post. He sighed. _Seriously, get better hobbies, paps, let a man wipe out in peace._

Aiming for casual, Harry swiped his mobile open and saw a new message.

From “D.M.”

> > Thinking about you today. How are you?

_Oh my god._

Harry assessed the situation. Malfoy was _thinking_ about him. And asked him a question? _This is good. This is workable._

He scratched the back of his neck. He could feel the blood rushing through his body.

First things first, he texted Ron.

> > OMG HE JUST TOSSED ME THE QUAFFLE! AAAAAAAAH WON-WON IT’S ALL HAPPENING!

Then he wondered, for only a moment, if it was uncool to respond instantly. No, _fuck it_.

He typed clumsily:

> > great! good to hear from you! how are YOU?

The little spinning feather let him know Malfoy was typing right back. Harry felt a giddy joy rising in his chest.

The answer came:

> > Good, I think!

More spinning feather, for what felt like a lifetime, then:

> > Are you free again Saturday, by any chance? I’d love to see you.

Harry sat down, right there on the pavement, and put his head in his hands. He hadn’t realized how much the _not knowing_ had been weighing on him until he _knew_.

With a huge grin spreading across his face, Harry texted back,

> > Yes. Please. Absolutely.

## DM

Draco nearly skipped like a first-year into Plunkett’s Friday morning.

Sophie noticed.

“So!” She said with a huge smile. “Tell me more about how idiotic you are?”

Draco flopped into the chair behind the counter.

“I don’t even know what to say!” he said. “I just…took the time to think about it, and then I realized I was not being a very good Slytherin, because an extraordinarily attractive man with _connections and fame_ , but more importantly, _an adorable smile_ and a frankly obscene laugh—it’s so unrefined, hand to Hades, I swear, he just _shows everything he’s feeling right on his face_ —anyway, he _likes me_.”

Sophie was grinning. “And you like him.”

Draco flapped his hand. “Ugh. Yeah. He’s super sweet and talented and a genuinely good person and I like him, shut up, why are you making me say it.”

“Aah, Villain, I’m so happy for you!” Sophie was bouncing up and down excitedly. “When Ravi saw your message yesterday, he _squealed_ , like a little happy piglet.”

“I think I like him enough that I want to actually try, even. You know, to _communicate_ , and share feelings, and all that, what am I even doing?”

Sophie grabbed his hand in hers.

“Draco, you’re being open because even though it’s hard, it’s _right_. You’ve learned so much. You are so strong. You are marching bravely into the unknown! Like Shackleton!”

“Didn’t Sir Shackleton die of a heart attack whilst exploring?”

Sophie waved her hand in the air. “Semantics,” she said. “Before that, think of all the _adventures_ he had.”

Draco pondered this, then thought about Potter, singing. He opened his phone and clicked on what he had started to think of as “his song” ( _yes, he’d bookmarked it, so what_ ). Without a word, he slid the mobile over to Sophie and hit play.

“Oh my god, wait, _what_??” Sophie gasped, catching on.

With a dramatic turn worthy of Severus, Draco smiled slyly and turned to flounce toward the back room, leaving Sophie to listen on her own.

## HP

Harry spent Friday being a very bad employee. In his defense, he thought he probably deserved at least one day on the Ministry’s dime sloughing off most of his duties and half-heartedly participating in meetings, given the years of crap he’d put up with. Surely “saving your asses both literally and diplomatically, day in and day out” counted for something.

So, he daydreamed through a muggle relations seminar. He filled out some paperwork using slightly larger-than-usual handwriting to take up more inches of parchment, smiling as he reminisced about studying with Ron & Hermione, writing essays for Binns.

He took a very long lunch to sit in his park ( _their park_ ) and try to look at everything through Malfoy’s eyes, looking at the things he didn’t usually look at. He sat on their bench and stared up at the trees, where birds were chattering and leaves were rustling. The milkmaid and her mermaid were gossiping away happily about the stone satyr across the way.

“He’s looking _particularly_ vigorous, today, don’t you think?” the milkmaid asked.

The mermaid licked her lips. “Mmmmm,” she said, “maybe tonight he’ll join us, it’s been a while since we’ve played with someone so _endowed_.”

On the other side of the fountain, the satyr was looking around, twirling his tail in his hand and whistling the chimney-sweepers song from _Mary Poppins_ , oblivious.

By dinner time Harry needed a distraction. He scribbled out a note to Seamus inquiring about pub night and called for Heloise. She pecked affectionately at his hand until he scratched her speckled brown head.

“Here, girl,” he said. “Wait for his answer, yeah?”

The potential for a mindless night of jokes and quidditch conversation lifted his spirits. As his owl went off in search of Seamus, he went upstairs to change out of his Ministry robes.

## DM

Saturday morning Draco woke up after a fitful night (even the bed could only do so much). He felt excited and terrified all at once, like it was a Quidditch match day. Or the first day of school.

He remembered his first day of Hogwarts and Potter’s role in it, and all the days since then (and Potter’s role in them).

_Forward, Draco, forward._

With a determined set to his jaw, Draco swung his legs out of bed and got up. He’d start with a shower, then breakfast.

They had decided to meet at Draco’s flat at 10am — a hilarious time of day for a…second date? Is that what this was? At any rate, Draco had a few hours to get himself put together before Potter arrived.

His mirror was in a very good mood. Her warm voice kept Draco company as he went about his morning routine.

“Oh, sweet boy, you look so much better today. I was worried about you this week, you seemed so worried about something. Is this about that very nice young man who was here last week, the one with such darling teeth?”

Draco knew the mirror could see him blushing.

“Oh!” the mirror said fondly. “I _would_ like to see more of him. You be a good boy now and don’t run that one off.”

“You never said that about Ethan,” Draco said absentmindedly.

The mirror tutted a protective, “ _Well_ ,” and that’s all she had to say about that.

## HP

It was finally Saturday, and Harry sat up in his bed like a bolt of lightning.

Hermione had been thrilled to hear that he was meeting up with Malfoy this morning.

“Now make sure you actually _talk_ , Harry,” she chided him. “You want to be sure to start a relationship on a foundation of honesty and clarity, right from the beginning.”

Ron had laughed. “Yeah, ’Mione, just like we did. We absolutely never had, I dunno, _years_ of angsting around each other or anything.”

Hermione had smiled and looked at him fondly. “Well, once it was all out in the _open_ , we did much better, didn’t we?”

“Hermione, this is only sort-of-date _two_ , we’re not getting married or anything,” Harry insisted.

She’d waved his objection away. “Pish posh. You’ve been through too much and Draco is too important in your life to take this anything less than seriously. Have any of your casual encounters in the last decade made you feel anything like this? Be honest.”

At Harry’s slightly frantically overwhelmed silence, Ron had laughed again.

“Have a biscuit, Potter,” he said, patting Harry’s hand.

This joke, as long-running and long-suffering as it was, never ceased to make Harry smile.

But now the morning had arrived and Harry had—he cast a quick _Tempus_ —approximately 20 minutes to get cleaned up, dressed and over to Malfoy’s flat. He was gratified to discover he had no hangover from his pub night with Seamus, who was probably not faring quite as well this morning.

(Also at the pub had been Dean, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Justin’s girlfriend, a hilarious and super cute witch a few years below them in school. Harry had spent the entire evening trying to remember her name and never succeeding, leading to an embarrassing number of awkward interchanges with her like “Oh, thanks…you!” and “And what will you have this round, ma’am?” Harry cringed, remembering that one.)

With a yawn and a shake of his head, Harry stretched his arms high overhead and then headed for the shower.


	13. A Bench on a Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my early readers who bravely ventured into an unfinished fic! I hope you enjoy the ending.

## DM

Draco puttered around his kitchen and put on the kettle. Did Potter like tea? _Draco, who are you kidding, you know exactly how he likes his tea, you watched him make it every morning for six years._

He rubbed his eyes and took deep breaths, in and out, remembering what his mind healer always told him to say when he was feeling anxious. _I am safe. I am strong. I am at peace. All is well._

His heart stuttered as he heard the rush of his Floo. It was followed by the sound of something—a book?—hitting the ground with a thump, a muttered, “ _Shit_ ,” and then a louder, “Hello? Malfoy?”

Draco felt himself start to smile and walked to the front room, where Potter was attempting to make a neat stack of the items on the coffee table. When he saw Draco, he stood up abruptly and clasped his hands in front of his stomach.

“Oh! Hi!” Potter said.

Draco grinned in earnest now. “Morning, Potter.”

Potter just stood there, staring at Draco for a moment. Draco started to wonder if he had breakfast on his shirt or something, and looked down to check.

“You look,” Potter blurted, “You. Er. It’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you… I.” He wriggled his nose to push up his glasses.

“Good morning, I mean,” he said sheepishly.

Draco felt his heart pounding. Potter was _nervous_. Harry James Potter, comfortable on stages and quidditch pitches and magazine covers, was standing in his front room, so earnest and hopeful and nervous that Draco thought he might cry.

“Ugh,” Draco said. “I like you so much.”

A surprised laugh from Potter was followed by the cutest blush Draco had ever seen.

“Seriously, Potter,” Draco continued, “ugh. Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you.”

He watched Potter’s chest rise and fall below his faded, light blue “SEE MORE AT EXMOOR National Park!” t-shirt. He wondered if Potter had been there, or if he had just gotten the shirt from somewhere. He wanted to go to Exmoor with Potter. He wanted to see all of Potter’s t-shirts. He wanted to take Potter’s t-shirt off.

Potter’s laugh faded and he looked at Draco with wide, green eyes.

“Oh my god,” he said, “yes.”

Draco marched with singular focus and put his hands firmly on either side of Potter’s jaw. Potter’s hair was still damp from what must have been a shower and Draco relished the feel of Potter’s nape below his fingertips.

He leaned in, heart swelling, and savored Potter’s mouth on his.

## HP

Harry had the fleeting thought that this was not what Hermione had in mind when she said “talking,” but then Draco’s tongue brushed his and all thoughts of Hermione left him.

Malfoy kissed him like the world was ending. At the touch of Malfoy’s hand on the soft skin of his stomach, Harry made a choked _hmmm_ in the back of his throat. In response, Malfoy gripped his waist and pushed their hips together.

“Please,” Harry heard himself say. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The week between the last time he’d felt Malfoy’s body under his hands and today felt like literal years. Harry nonsensically thought of the time Ginny had made him do some Muggle bootcamp thing with her, and he had forgotten to bring a water bottle, but he couldn’t _Aguamenti_ with all the Muggles, so by the end of the morning he thought for sure he would die.

Malfoy felt like water. Harry wanted to drink him in and never stop.

The sudden jolt of Apparition surprised Harry for just a moment, but he quickly adjusted and stumbled with Malfoy into that marvelous bed.

“Wait, the calibration!” Harry said.

Malfoy flapped his hand and started pulling his shirt off. “I set it to remember you,” he said offhandedly. “Take off your trousers.”

Harry stopped and stared at him.

“Malfoy,” he said.

The unfairly fit man above him flopped onto his back and put his arm over his eyes. “What,” he mumbled.

“Malfoy, you _like_ me.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Ugh, Potter, I already said that, do keep up. Your dim-wittedness is delaying the part where one of us fucks the other one of us.”

Harry’s brain stuttered.

“Yes. That,” he said, and then scrambled to undo his button.

## DM

After, Draco let his breathing return to normal. They lay side by side in comfortable, satiated silence for a long moment, in what may have actually been a nap for one or both of them.

Then Draco rolled to his side, tucked his knees, and looked at Potter.

Potter was lying on his side too, watching Draco.

“You know,” Potter said, “I came here very determined to have a nice, grown-up conversation about what _this_ is,” he gestured between them, “but I’m actually kind of glad we started this way instead.”

“‘Kind of glad,’ Potter? What a ringing endorsement,” Draco said sarcastically, but he was smiling.

“Seriously, though,” Potter insisted, earnest and noble. “We…scratched that itch, if you will, and now we can talk.”

Draco couldn’t stop smiling. “Salazar, we’re so _mature_. Look at us. We’re going to _talk_ about our _relationship_.”

Potter grinned. Draco marveled at how both of them were already operating under the assumption that, no matter what shape it took, this was _something_.

“As much as I hate to say it,” Draco said, “I think we need to get out of this bed if we’re going to talk. If I have to look at you naked and gorgeous in my sheets I’ll never be able to focus, I’ll just want to touch you.”

Unable to resist now that he’d thought of it, Draco reached over and let his hand drift across Potter’s bare chest. He felt Potter’s nipple harden under his fingers and heard an intake of breath as Draco’s hand drifted lower. He watched Potter’s eyes darken.

“Unf,” Draco said. His cock gave a twitch. “Actually I take it all back. Can we fuck again first? I really want to fuck again first. Please say yes.”

With a wide, happy laugh, Potter rolled over and tackled Draco into the pillow.

## HP

After _that_ , Harry sat up with a determined expression.

“Okay,” he said firmly. “We are going to clean ourselves up, and then we are getting dressed, and then we are going somewhere boring where you won’t get distracted by fountains and we are going to talk.”

Malfoy had a pinched look on his face.

Harry glared at him. “What.”

“I’m really struggling over here,” Malfoy said. “Like, I keep wanting to disagree with you out of habit, and say, ‘No, Potter, I shan’t!’ But I think you’re right, that’s a brilliant plan.”

Harry patted his shoulder and said sagely, “It’s okay, Malfoy. It’s hard to admit I’m right, but we’ll get through this together. Also, ‘ _shan’t_ ’?”

Malfoy whacked Harry’s arm with the back of his hand and Harry dodged it, laughing.

By early afternoon they were dressed and fed and headed for a muggle park that Malfoy insisted was “really dumb, it’s just, like, a hill with a bench on it, but the hill is ugly.”

Upon arrival, Harry had to agree that it was a rather lackluster hill. They trudged up it together and sat on the bench, leaving some space between them.

The bench overlooked a drab, beige housing estate. The grass was patchy, no birds were singing, and there was nothing else of note. _Perfect_.

“Okay, now what?” he said.

Malfoy said, grinning, “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Like, this is the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen. If anyone else knew that the Chosen One and the Death Eater were meeting on an ugly hill to talk about _their relationship_ , they’d shit themselves.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t really jive with either of our images, does it?” Harry agreed.

They sat and stared at the housing estate for a moment. Nothing was happening. “I suppose I can start,” Malfoy said, finally. “I…fear I’m not easy, Potter. I get overwhelmed by things, and I’m still fucked up from the War, and I have massive trust issues from Ethan. And my mind healer says I can be too easily swayed by strong opinions around me, that I lose the sense of the forest and get swallowed by the tree. I take too long to process things, and sometimes I withdraw into myself, and I can’t begin, well, _anything_ , without thinking about and stressing about the ending. But I…I want to begin with you, I think, anyway.”

Harry felt a rush of affection for the person beside him. He wanted, desperately, to do right by him.

“I don’t think I need you to be easy,” he said slowly, thinking. “Nothing good in my life has ever been easy. We all have suitcases we carry around, yeah? I’m not easy either, I’m reckless sometimes, and get angry, and I trust too easily, and I have all these _scars_ , inside and out—Circe, we both do, and Merlin knows PTSD is real, and a bitch. I get really frustrated when people think I’m not smart, and Hermione says I can get ‘emotionally constipated’ because of my ‘deep-seated attachment issues resulting from childhood trauma,’ you know how it is.”

Malfoy pulled his legs up onto the bench and hugged his knees. “What if we don’t work?” he whispered. He ran his hand through his hair, exhaled, then said, “Potter, when I’m with you I forget everything else, and then when you’re not beside me the world just…rushes back in. What if it’s not enough to want it to work? What if we try this and then it explodes in our faces?”

Harry studied Malfoy’s face. He looked so vulnerable, sitting there. Harry closed his eyes and remembered Malfoy crying at a sink, Malfoy learning his father had been arrested, Malfoy’s shaky “I can’t be sure,” Malfoy crestfallen on the first day of school when Harry Potter wouldn’t shake his hand, then putting on a face and acting haughty. Malfoy’s heart was so big and Harry had never realized.

## DM

“Malfoy,” Potter said, “Draco.”

Draco’s poor heart was working overtime today. Every time he thought he had reached peak _emotion_ , Harry Potter went and did something like say, “Draco,” in _that voice_.

“All we can do is promise, right now, to not hurt each other. Right?” Potter’s earnest face was going to be the death of him. “To be honest, and open, and never hurt each other on purpose, ever again.”

“Ugh,” Draco said, and then, because he could, “When did you become so wise, _Harry_?”

A pleased smile broke across Potter’s—Harry’s—face. “Oh, wow,” Harry said, grinning. “I feel like we just had a _moment_. Like an honest-to-God emotional _beat_ , Merlin’s beard, the movie score would be swelling right now.”

Draco felt happier than maybe ever. “Or the book would linger lovingly on this scene and, I don’t know, talk about our sparkling eyes.”

“In the book, we would not have had that plot point occur approximately ten metres from a portable toilet,” Harry said, gesturing to a lopsided toilet unit near the edge of the hill.

Draco snorted.

“You know,” Harry said conversationally, “I never knew how much you snort when you think something is funny. And, like, every single time, you look like you didn’t mean to do it.”

“Ugh,” Draco said indignantly.

“No, I love it,” Harry said. “And I never knew how weird and swotty you are, you’re such a nerd. Before last week I would have thought your flat would be full of, like, paintings and bronze statues, but it’s just a shit-ton of books.”

“Well, _you_ ,” Draco jabbed his finger into Harry’s chest, “are also less of a rock star than advertised. I mean everyone thinks you’re some kind of _sex god_ , but your boxers have _gnomes_ on them.”

“I love those boxers,” Harry beamed.

Draco beamed back.

Softly, under his breath, Harry starting humming. Draco was confused at first, until—“wait, is that the _Titanic_ song?”

“EVERY NIGHT IN MY DREEEAMS,” Harry bellowed, loudly now.

“Oh my god, they’ll all hear you,” Draco said, looking down at the estate.

“I SEE YOU, I FEEEEEEEEL YOU…”

This was not on. With a smooth move made for a Hollywood musical, Draco glided down the bench and captured Harry’s smiling lips in his.

_~ fin ~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first fic longer than a drabble and I am 1. proud 2. humbled 3. grateful for the people who give so much of themselves to the community. Thanks for coming along with me! Kudos & comments are love, and I feel it, through the tubes, from here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to jezamaya for some beta work!
> 
> This story is loosely based on how my partner/love of my life and I got together after knowing each other for years. (I was the Draco, obviously.) So thanks, babe, for all the stories you've lived with me.
> 
> I'm [on tumblr as zeziliazink](https://zeziliazink.tumblr.com) too, come say hi!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Classics Cover: As the Lights Lift Around Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318879) by [zeziliazink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeziliazink/pseuds/zeziliazink), [zeziliazink_art (zeziliazink)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeziliazink/pseuds/zeziliazink_art)




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